Progeny
by Ladyhawke 620
Summary: Ten years after Dom's death, Stringfellow Hawke comes face to face with his past. Story based on the Season 1 episode - "Daddy's Gone A Hunt'n" and characters created by Rachel500.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - Airwolf, Hawke, Caitlin, and all its characters belong to Bellisarius and Universal, though I sure wish they were mine. Seb, Nicky and Amelia belong to Rachel500. Thank you for letting me borrow them. I admit I am borrowing the show,and characters. They retain all ownership and rights, etc. No infringement of copyright is intended.

Progeny -

Twelve years. Seemed hard to believe it'd been that long , or that short, Roper thought pouring himself a drink. "All gone in a day," he muttered. "What a waste."

Slinging the glass down, he thought back over the day. A day that had gone from bad to worse. First, he'd gotten run off the road by some crazy, and then had to get his brand new Grand Prix towed out of the ditch. Dismally, he doubted she'd ever be the same again.

From there he'd been late to work. That hadn't set too well with his CO. He'd barely made it back from the briefing room when the base chaplain had met him with news of his parents death in a single engine plane crash.

Now that was rich, he thought bitterly. Experienced jet fighter pilot dies in single engine puddle jumper crash.

Pacing, he walked the apartment feeling trapped in it. Restlessly he checked the fridge, the pantry, the mail pile - unable to settle. Finally, he paused at the mail.

Agitated he flipped through the mail. Bill, bill, junk, bill, junk. Wait a minute, he thought flipping back one envelope. "I don't remember seeing that earlier. Curious, he sliced the envelope open with a knife off the table.

A letter fluttered out, typed on a single sheet of lavender paper. Picking it up, Roper skimmed the type before going back and re-reading it in shock.

Dropping bonelessly to the kitchen chair, one hand buried in his short brown hair he skimmed it in a stupor once more.

"Not an accident," he whispered, "not an accident." He skimmed on, not thinking much of the warnings Nhi Huong had left him.

"Something I have to know?" he questioned, "now what?" Quickly, blue eyes flitted over the words, hurt and shock masking anger. "What does she mean, Sam wasn't my father? That's stupid. Of course, he was."

Reading on, the news was like a gut punch. Nhi Huong apologized for not telling him sooner, but now he needed to know. The man he was named after, the man who'd come to Russia and saved him all those years ago was in all reality his father - not Sam. Sam who'd raised him, cared for him, loved him.

Sucking in a breath, he read on - the words blurring. As far as Sam had known, he'd been his son. He hadn't known, neither had Stringfellow Hark. How could that be? he wondered. The words slid across the page before his eyes, but he got the gist. She and String had been separated in 'Nam before he'd been born, and she'd ended up marrying Sam. To tell him would've been the betrayal of a good man.

The point, Nhi Huong, stressed was, if she and Sam were dead, then he needed to know he was in danger too. The only man who could help him, the only person to be trusted was Stringfellow Hawke. Find String and watch his back.

Nervelessly, Stringfellow Roper let the letter slide from his fingers to the table below.

So what did happen in Russia anyway? he thought. Surely his imagination had embellished his memories. He remembered an awesome black helicopter that had screamed like a jet through the air, a dark angel with a howl like a wolf. "Okay, that's just weird," he told himself. "I know helicopters don't howl like wolves."

Reaching over, he slugged back the rest of his drink and headed for bed. Oblivion seemed the best thing to hope for at this point.

Sunlight was streaming through the window when Stringfellow Roper awoke. "Ugh-hh," he moaned, a hand going to his head. In quick succession, the events of the previous day joined the throbbing agony in his head.

Moaning, he rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with a thud. "Never again," he muttered, "Never again." The floor heaving uncertainly under his feet, he stumbled for the shower and to hunt for a hawke.

Two weeks later, the search yielded results. How one man could be so hard to find, he didn't know. At least he'd learned he didn't want a career as a private eye, he thought humorlessly.

If Hawke hadn't gone back to work for Santini Air he doubted he'd have ever found him. Evidently, his brother had taken over after an explosion had killed Dominic Santini, the owner and onetime guardian of the two brothers.

Rumor had it, Hawke had been injured in the explosion that had killed Santini. That he had almost died himself. At any rate, he'd largely disappeared from radar for the next couple years. It was only after his brother's daughter had drowned and his wife had left that String had returned.

Looking at the map, Roper turned left heading south towards Van Nuys. Traffic streamed along the highway heading south. Spotting the exit he swung the car into the lane.

In minutes, the sign marking Van Nuys Airport came up. Surprised at the size of the place he pulled in to the first hanger and asked for Santini Air. Gesturing, the mechanic pointed him far down the field. "Look for the stars and stripes and the trouble," he'd grunted.

Thanking him, Roper climbed back in the Grand Prix and drove down to the far end of the field. "Well, at least he was right about the stars and stripes," he commented. "Hope he was wrong about the other."

Swinging out of the car, he strode towards the hanger. Inside a man in tan coveralls lay on a rollaway working under a helicopter. Glancing around, and seeing nobody else, he headed towards him.

"Hey!" he called out.

Sliding to the side, Everett looked up at him. "Something I can do for you?" he asked, wiping his hands on a red grease rag.

"Hope so," Roper replied. "Can you tell me if Stringfellow Hawke is around?"

"Sorry," Everett replied. "You just missed him. But he should be back shortly. Can one of the rest of us help you?"

Outside, he heard a jeep pull up. "Well, I appreciate it, but I kinda needed to talk to him."

Footsteps echoed on the concrete floor behind them.

Looking up, Roper spotted an older version of the man he remembered from a decade ago walk in, his arms full of boxes and lunch.

"Hey, Everett," he called, not looking up, "how 'bout a hand?"

The mechanic paused. "Yeah, coming!" he yelled back. "Sorry, just a minute," he apologized, leaving Roper and running to give Hawke a hand.

"Got the parts you needed for the Stearman," Hawke said, his voice carrying as he started to put stuff out on the desk.

Shrugging, Roper walked over towards where the two men were talking. Hawke gestured as he spoke with the mechanic.

At that moment, Saint John walked out of the office paperwork in his hands. "Hey, String!" he yelled irritably, looking up from the papers in his hands.

Simultaneously, two heads swiveled in his direction. "Yeah?" Hawke yelled back. "What d'ya need?"

Dumbfounded, Saint John stared at the trio, the papers he held fluttering to the ground from suddenly nerveless fingers. Identical pairs of delphinine blue eyes, topped by light brown fringe gazed back. Caught in a weird time warp, saint John continued to gape at the brother he knew and expected, and the man-child he'd known from twenty years ago.

"What?" asked String when Saint John didn't respond. At his continued silence, String glanced up at him quirking an eyebrow inquisitively.

Saint John mutely gestured at him. Bemused, his brother frowned at him and then glanced up at the two men standing next to him. Meeting the younger man's eyes for the first time, Hawke set the helicopter part he held down on the desk with a loud thump. Startled blue eyes widened in surprise, before an impassive mask slammed down across his fine-boned features.

"And you are?" he asked, taking a step back and eyes narrowing.

Aware of the stir he was creating, and suddenly feeling more than a little uncomfortable, Stringfellow Roper gave a slight shrug. "Maybe you've got some place a little more private we could talk?"

Taking in Everett's blatent curiosity and Saint John's gaping surprise, Hawke relented. Maybe that would be a good idea after all, he thought dryly.

Raising an eyebrow and gesturing towards the small office Saint John had just vacated, Hawke indicated he should proceed him in. Casting an uneasy glance his way, Roper did.

Closing the door behind him, Hawke walked round to the desk. Propping himself against it, arms crossed, he faced the younger man. "So," he drawled, "You were saying…"

Seated and suddenly finding himself on the defensive the younger man hesitated. Maybe this hadn't been such a great idea after all, he thought with a sigh, glancing up at the waiting Hawke.

Coming to a hasty decision, he reached for his pocket prompting a defensive stance and an uneasy alertness from Hawke. Oblivious, Roper rifled through his jeans pocket to withdraw the crumpled letter. Watching him draw it out with narrowed eyes, Hawke subsided uneasily.

"Perhaps this will explain it better than I can," he said handing the letter over.

Reaching out for it with strong, square-tipped fingers, Hawke shot a questioning glance his way before taking it. Silently he skimmed over it, his gaze flashing up to meet the younger man's before dropping back to the letter he held in his hands, a faint scowl creasing his forehead as he read - this time much more slowly.

Finishing it finally, he passed it back as the silence stretched between them. "Nhi Huong was your mother?" Hawke asked rubbing your chin.

"Yeah," the younger man replied, laconically easing back in the chair.

"You're really Ho Minh?" Hawke asked raising his eyebrows.

"Well," Stringfellow Roper replied with a wry grin, "yes and no. It hasn't been Ho Minh for about eleven years. It's been Stringfellow."

"Damn," Hawke said with a sudden rare grin. "I told her Stringfellow was no name for a kid."

"Well, evidently she disagreed," Roper replied. "She never forgot what you did in Omryklot and neither have I."

"Yeah," Hawke nodded almost imperceptively before looking away. He paused before continuing with a sigh, "So, you're sure she and Sam are really dead?"

"Yeah," the younger man said softly, all traces of earlier humor vanishing.

"How?" Hawke ground out.

"Plane crash. Everyday, routine puddle jump from Laguna to Van Nuys."

"Van Nuys?" Hawke questioned raising his head in surprise. "Why?"

"Don't know." the other replied, "I though perhaps you might know." Angry blue eyes pinned him.

Hawke shook his head.

Roper shrugged, shifted restlessly in the chair. He looked away.

"Perfect weather, flat terrain, plenty of room for an emergency landing. Dad would've never stuffed it into the ground like that."

"Mechanical failure?" Hawke questioned quietly.

Roper heaved a sigh. "No sign that I can tell. FAA isn't saying anything."

"You've been out to the crash sight?" Hawke asked in surprise.

"I know a few people," Roper replied.

Hawke raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"I fly fighter jets, Stringfellow. I'm not an idiot. I know how it works."

"Didn't say you didn't." Silently Hawke stared out the office window for a long moment. After a minute he shrugged uncomfortably, knowing it had to be said. "He could've made a mistake. It happens…"

"Hell, no!" the younger man exploded vehemently. "Hawke, he flew fighter jets for a living. He had been since before I was born - you don't do that and then just "accidently" fly a by-plane straight into the ground! Besides, that doesn't explain the letter."

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Hawke conceded the point. "No, it doesn't explain the letter."

"It also doesn't explain my apartment getting trashed, or me getting run off the road," he ranted oblivious to the interruption.

"What do you mean, getting run off the road?!" Hawke demanded rising to his feet heatedly, his eyes dangerous.

"After their 'accident' I started to check into things," Roper replied. "I went out with friends for drinks one night and came back to find my place trashed, drawers dumped, laptop gone, furniture slashed. The cops figured kids looking for money for drugs. Heck, after all they took the stereo, the lap top, my palm pilot."

"And the getting run off the road?" he asked.

Roper paced the small office like a caged animal. "I probably would've agreed with them, except I got run off the road on my way to the base a couple days earlier. I was there. Those guys weren't playing, and it was no accident. Nhi Huong's letter showed up that evening." Raking a hand through his hair in frustration, he dropped back into the low chair. "That's why I'm here now."

Pacing himself now, Hawke reined in the sudden flare of anger that raged through his veins. "So, what exactly were Sam and Nhi Huong involved in?" he demanded.

"Nothing," Roper avowed. "Well, at least nothing I knew about," he amended.

"Well, obviously it was something," Hawke ground out. "Enough to get them killed, and you too, maybe if you aren't careful."

"Alright," the younger pilot conceded irritably. "You've made your point. So, any ideas on what I should do?"

Rubbing his chin, Hawke mulled it over. "Tell you what," he said at last. "Let me check into it some, I've still got some contacts in the intelligence community. Maybe I can find something out."

Meeting his eyes, Stringfellow Roper nodded, his jaw tight. "Okay."

"In the meantime, you keep a low profile. Don't do anything about checking into it," Hawke commanded.

"Hey, you've got another thing coming if you think I'm going to just sit on my hands!" Roper exploded. "I'll be…"

"Enough!" Hawke yelled, his own temper flaring. "I said I'd look into it. I can't check it out, and babysit you at the same time. You're going to have to make a choice. Do you want me to look into it or not?!"

Resentment blazing in his eyes, the younger man tightened his jaw.

"Well?" Hawke demanded. "What's it going to be?"

"Check it out," he replied angrily. "But I'm not going to just sit around forever," he promised.

Hawke looked at him, the gaze frank and appraising. "I don't expect you to," he said, his voice quiet and deadly.

Roper subsided sensing he was on dangerous ground.

Hawke paced the small room like he needed the space to think. "So, you said you were military," he mused.

"No," the younger man said, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Hawke glanced up, hands in his back jeans pockets. "You fly fighter jets, you were heading to the base. What else can you be?" he asked. "The government is real touchy about loaning their toys out. Believe me I should know. What are you - airforce?"

Surprise lightened his blue eyes. This guy was more astute than he would've guessed. "How'd you guess?"

"If you're flying jets, you're either navy or airforce. Sam was airforce, so it's the likelier choice." Hawke tossed back.

Grudging admiration tugged at him, and for the first time in weeks Roper felt a glimmer of hope. "Yeah, you're right."

Hawke nodded, his mind already back on the problem at hand. "Okay, we need to see about getting you temporary quarters on base, keep close there, don't go off on your own…"

"Hey, you act like I'm twelve," he snarled in irritation. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Yeah, Sam probably thought the same thing," Hawke bit back, "and look where it got him."

Subsiding, the younger man winced. "Fine. You've made your point - I'll do it your way. He shifted, sliding forward in the chair. "How do I get a hold of you, if something comes up?"

Reaching over on the cluttered desk, Hawke scrawled the number of the satellite phone on the back of a Santini Air business card. "If I'm not here, this is your best bet. Cell phone won't work up in the mountains near the cabin where I live."

Eyeing it, Roper placed the card in his pocket. Picking up the pad next to Hawke's hand on the desk, he scribbled his own cell phone number. "Call me when you find out something."

At that, he turned and headed for the door, having had more than enough for one morning. Wearily, his shoulders slumped as he hunched into his jacket to go.


	2. Chapter 2

Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it to go, Hawke spoke up.

"Stringfellow?"

"Yeah?" the wiry young man replied, casting a glance over his shoulder.

"I didn't know. I wish she had told me," Hawke gestured vaguely, flushing. "It's just…" he trailed off. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I got shot down, ended up in the hospital - by the time I got out , Saigon had fallen. And she was just…gone.

I didn't see her again until right before getting you out of Omryklot, Russia."

Closing the door, Roper turned to face Hawke. "And then?" he asked crossing his arms expectantly and waiting.

"Then, then there was the plane and the Russians and Sam." Hawke grimaced his hands in the air. "What was I supposed to do? When she said, Sam saved my life back when it meant something she was right. He might not have told her, but she knew. She was right, I owed Sam. How could I step in and destroy him like that? And only on a supposition."

"Did you ever ask her?" Roper asked, pushing away from the wall.

"Yeah, I asked her," Hawke said frustration in his tone as he shrugged uncomfortably. "She said your last name was Roper, it always had been and that was the only answer she'd ever give. It wasn't what I wanted to hear, but it was what I had to accept.

I told her," Hawke continued, "that if her son ever needed me I'd be there." Looking the younger man in the eye, he said, "It still stands."

Begrudgingly, Roper had to admit that sounded like his mom. Biological father or not, she had picked Sam to be his dad. And Sam, he admitted had been a great father. Yet strangely enough, it was to this man she had sent him when he was in trouble…

Glancing back at the man silently waiting before him, his private demons apparent in his eyes, Roper acknowledged maybe she had known what she was doing. Hawke's regret was obvious, but so was the determination and the dangerous edge he wore. This was not a man to be lightly crossed. And he had a feeling that if he gave his word, he'd keep it - no matter what the cost.

"Okay," he said at last, reaching out to shake Hawke's hand. "You've got yourself a deal. I'd appreciate whatever help you can give me."

"Fair enough," Hawke replied grasping his hand firmly. The coil of tension that had seemed to be tightening around his chest ever since he'd laid eyes on the younger man loosened a notch. Perhaps, just perhaps there might be a chance to fix some past regrets here after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Landing the Jet Ranger on the dock and pulling off the radio headset, Hawke took an uneven breath. Reaching for the door handle, he wondered for the umpteenth time how he was going to break the news he had a son to Caitlin. Heck, he thought, he didn't even know what to think of it, much less how to settle her thoughts on it.

Feeling the tension climbing into his shoulders again, he stepped down onto the dock and headed for the cabin. Absently he rubbed Nicky's dog on the head as he stepped over him on the porch and reached for the door handle. Opening it, the tantalizing aroma of the Eggplant Parmesan Caitlin was fixing in the kitchen wafted out.

"Hey, love," Cait called out not turning around. "You're early. Things slow at the airfield today?"

"Yeah," Hawke returned as he slowly closed the door behind him. Taking a deep breath, he pulled off his sunglasses as he glanced around for the kids. "Where are Nicky and Amelia?"

"Over at friends for the night. Don't tell me you forgot?" she chuckled. "I can always call them back if you want me to," she teased.

"Uh, no. That's okay," he responded hastily, still hesitating at the door.

Looking up, Caitlin frowned at him. "You sure?" she asked, setting down the dishtowel. "You're acting kinda strange."

"Yeah, well… no," he replied blowing out a harsh breath and raking his hand through short strands of coffee brown hair and standing it on end.

"Well, which is it?" she asked, walking around the counter to stand in front of him, looking up with concern in his eyes.

"You got a minute?" he asked wryly, pulling her over to the sofa, and wrapping her hands in his.

"Hawke," Caitlin said, her eyes wide and searching his. "You're starting to scare me. What's wrong?"

Taking a deep breath, he plunged in wondering if things between them would ever be the same again. "First," he stated, "I need you to listen. Just listen, okay?"

Da Nang - My 1974

Nhi Huong sighed to herself as she handed out another round of beers to the American GI's seated at the bar. It seemed their appetite for alcohol never diminished whatever the shift was she worked, and her feet were killing her.

"Hey, sweetheart!" a bleery-eyed blond slurred at her, as he grabbed her arm as she went by. "How 'bout partying with us?"

"No, don't think so," she stammered trying vainly to pull her arm back. Laughing, the soldier just drug her into his lap, planting a sloppy kiss on her neck.

"Let me go!" Nhi Huong cried, struggling in earnest now, fear making her frantic.

Watching from the bar, Stringfellow Hawke raised an eyebrow before taking another swig of the lukewarm swill that passed for beer.

"Aw, come on honey," the guy slurred, "You know you want to have some fun."

"No, no fun!" she cried, long, dark hair tumbling down askew as she pushed against him trying to break free. Half-sobbing now, she heard the fabric in her sleeve rip as she struggled harder.

Setting the bottle down with a thump, Hawke swung to his feet. "You heard the lady, let her go."

"Back off buddy," the blond snarled. "This doesn't concern you."

"It does if I say so," Hawke grated back, shoving a crying Nhi Huong behind him. "Now why don't you just call it a night Talbert and go on home."

Rising to his feet, the blond shoved his chair back, ignoring the crash as it hit the floor. "Or else what?" he taunted. Hauling back, he swung a ham-fisted sucker punch at Hawke. Blocking it, Hawke swung a fist back, planting his knuckles squarely in the guy's nose. With a rush of satisfaction, he felt the bone crunch under his fist even as blood spurted across his fingers.

Scrambling he lunged, Nhi Huong scabbling away as the chairs overturned and Hawke and Talbert wrestled across the table trading blows. Splintering, the table crashed to the ground sending them both sprawling. Seizing the moment, Talbert rolled to his left and snatched up a chair leg. Grunting he swung it at Hawke.

Flinching, Hawke threw up his arms. Wood thwacked into his forearm and he bit back a groan against the pain. Staggering to his feet, he slammed his shoulder into Talbert's stomach knocking them both to the ground again.

"Enough!" a voice yelled. Rough hands snatched them up, pulling them apart. Shrugging, Hawke tried to shake them off, cradling his injured arm against his chest.

"Captain Hawke," yelled an authoritative voice. "I said that was enough! You too, Talbert unless you both want to end up in the brig!"

Shrugging, Hawke straightened, squaring his stance. Across from him, Talbert smirked insolently as he too stood.

Turning away, Colonel Hammond shook his head. "Like we don't have enough problems fighting the enemy, without our own guys trying to kill each other. You two should know better," he snarled.

Looking at what was left of the bar, he cast his eyes around, spotting Nhi Huong and the girl tending bar - the only Vietnamese locals left on the scene. "Wonderful," he muttered looking at the rubble. "Maybe now's not the best time," he said wryly, "But how'd you like a job with the U.S. Army?" he asked.

Nodding mutely, Nhi Huong agreed. After all, she figured, it wasn't like she'd have a job here at the bar come tomorrow anyway, she thought sighing. And so, she began her job as a translator for the U.S. government.

Carrying paperwork, Capt. Hawke trudged over to Colonel Hammond's office. Not relishing another earful on the previous night's bar fight, he stopped to flirt with Hammond's pretty, blonde secretary. Maybe, he thought hopefully he could just leave the reports with her.

To his surprise, he found in her place a dark, sloe-eyed beauty, long hair pinned up on her head. "Hey," he said in surprise.

"Hi, yourself," she replied laughter crinkling her brown eyes. "You know, I never did get a chance to thank you," she commented, shyly dropping her eyes.

"Hmm-mm? Oh, it was nothing," Hawke said dismissively. "You okay?"

"Yes," she replied, shyly looking up at him once more. "I should probably be asking you that question though," she said giving a pointed glance to his arm.

Grinning, he flexed his arm, pretending he didn't feel the twinge that ran all the way up it as he did so. "I'm good," he replied. "So what are you doing here?"

"Well, she said smiling, "You're looking at Colonel Hammonds new secretary and translator."

"Really?" Hawke said pleased. "Well, who knew a bar fight could be such a good thing…"

Vietnam - July 1974

Rifle fire pounded the ground in front of him, slamming into tree trunks and spraying dirt in the air. Touching down, Hawke spoke to the pilot on his left.

"Any sign of them?"

"Heading this way," was the response. "100 clicks."

"Come on, come on," Hawke muttered. "I've got a bad feeling about this." Warily he waited, tension knotting his muscles, hoping to catch a glimpse of soldiers coming around the bend in the river.

"Hawke, here they come. Got VC right on their tail. They're taking rifle fire!"

"Great," Hawke rasped, jumping down from the helicopter cockpit M-16 in hand. "Get ready!" he yelled. Dropping down into a crouching run, he ran towards them providing ground cover.

"Come on, come on, let's go!" he yelled, snatching one of the men up when he stumbled and spraying the air with rifle fire. Staggering the man made it a few steps before going down again.

Turning, Hawke dropped the rifle to the ground and reached over to haul Talbert to his feet. Grunting he knelt, throwing the wounded man over his shoulder. Hefting him, he ran for the waiting chopper adrenaline and fear slamming through his blood.

Mere yards from the chopper, shots rang out again. Flinching, Hawke tried to pick up the pace even as he did so feeling the blinding pain of bullet ripping into flesh. Fighting the pain that threatened to steal his very breath, Hawke fell to his knees, Talbert slipping from his shoulder and through suddenly numb fingers.

Both men hitting the ground, Hawke struggled to cling to conciousness, darkness beating its wings at him. Strong hands reached down, bodily wrenching both men to their feet and slinging an arm around Hawke, as Talbert stumbled for the chopper. Half-dragging him, Mace Talbert ran for the helicopter.

"Let's go kids, party's over!" quipped Saint John over the beat of the rotor blades.

Reaching out, hands pulled Hawke into the back of the Huey even as Mace swung inside himself. Giving in to the inevitable drag of darkness, String felt himself slide under.

Two days later -

Fingers twisting together nervously Nhi Huong stepped inside the doorway of the 1023rd Evacuation hospital. Looking around, her eyes sought the familiar form of Stringfellow Hawke, finally lighting on the light brown fringe of his hair on far side of the room. Taking a deep breath, she silently stepped towards him.

"…close call yesterday," retorted Saint John to his brother, as she walked up. "I could've used you out there, instead of you lying around, goofing off in here," he laughed, fondly slapping the younger man on the shoulder.

Grimacing at the twinge from his still sore ribs where the doctors had dug the bullet out, String ribbed back, "I'll keep that in mind before I schedule my next vacation."

Looking up, he spotted Nhi Huong behind Saint John. "Hey," he said to his brother, sobering abruptly, "think you could give us a minute?"

Glancing behind him, Saint John raised an inquisitive eyebrow before turning back to String. "Yeah," he said smiling and slapping the other man gently on the leg as he rose to his feet and turned to go. "Some of us around here have to work you know."

Turning to watch him go, Nhi Huong slid silently into his seat.

"Hey, you," Hawke gave her an easy grin, his eyes lighting up to see her.

"Hi, yourself," she replied somberly, worry creasing her forehead.

"Hey, none of that," String said reaching out to catch hold of her fingers, and tugging her down next to him. "It's nothing Nhi," he said blue eyes searching her tear-filled brown ones. "I'm okay. Just a scratch."

"Not just scratch," she replied her English fractured. "I could've lost you." A lone tear trickled down her cheek.

"But you didn't," Hawke said earnestly, pulling her to him. "You didn't."

Quietly, she sobbed and he held her close with his good arm, smoothing the long, dark curtain of her hair falling over them and whispering comforting noises.

At what point things between them changed, he couldn't have said later. He just knew when she started pressing tiny, soft kisses against his neck he couldn't have stopped the jolt of awareness that coursed through his body even if he'd wanted to. And when she pulled back to look at him, perfect crystal teardrops glittering on dark eyelashes, he was lost. Sliding strong fingers around the nape of her neck he pulled her towards him, his lips meeting hers in a kiss as passionate as it was desperate. A kiss as inevitable as time itself.

February 1975

Sweat dripping down his face, Stringfellow Hawke squinted into the blinding sun. He'd been flying for ten hours straight and ducking Charlie's bullets longer than he could count.

Grunting, he set the Huey down with a thud, a fine tremor of exhaustion shaking his arms. Damn, he thought. I would've never dreamed I could be this tired. The radio crackled to life with a burst of static.

"Get her up, Hawke! Get her up!" Atkins voice screamed at him over the radio. "We've got VietCong coming over the hill!"

Slamming the rotors into action, Hawke held his breath as he counted the seconds for them to get up enough speed for him to lift off. Grabbing the cyclic, he flung his bird into the air as hard as he dared and prayed. "Come on, baby, come on" he pled. "You can do it."

Shuddering, the aircraft caught the wind and lurched into motion. Easing up on the stick, Hawke swept into the air skimming the treetops as he headed downriver for the pick-up. "Hang on guys!" he radioed. "We're coming!"

Rotors slashing the air, Hawke swept around the river bend. In horror, his gaze widened as he took in the scene beneath him. Several bodies littered the sand, blood staining the ground around them. The blackened, burning hulk of another Huey lay strewn across the river bed, rotors still sluggishly turning even as flames consumed it.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he yelled for the ropes to be lowered even as they swooped down. MacKenzie lay down ground fire from the back trying to cover Atkins and what was left of his men as they made for the ropes.

Dragging men in, MacKenzies's voice yelled in his ear. "Go! Go! We're full, get the hell out of here!"

Swinging the Huey around, Hawke made altitude even as they took small arms fire along their flanks.

"Get her up, man, get her up!" Johnson cried from beside him panic in his voice as bullets showered the cockpit. Easing back the collective and pulling up at the stick, String aimed for the sky. Glancing over at his co-pilot, Hawke turned in just enough time to feel the brush of air asa bullet whipped past him and slammed into the seat next to his head. Johnson unfortunately wasn't as lucky, the next one catching him square in the chest. Grabbing his flight suit with startled hands, he turned horrified eyes to Hawke even as the light within those eyes dimmed.

"Hold on Johnson!" Hawke bellowed, tamping down the frustration that clawed at him, knowing there was nothing he could do for his co-pilot and friend. Nothing except keep flying the damn helicopter.

Skimming along the treetops, the Huey made for camp and safety. The distinctive whomp-whomp of her rotors the only thing breaking the silence as Hawke pushed her limits trying to get help, and knowing in his gut the race was already lost.

Even as he dared to slant an unwilling glance over at Johnson, MacKenzie's voice screamed in his head. "Ground fire, Hawke! Two o'clock, look out! Look out! Incoming!"

Ears ringing, Hawke swung hard to the right, then left trying desperately to evade. And for a moment, he thought he'd made it. Then came the shudder that shook through the frame of the entire aircraft and threatened to rip the stick from his hands.

"We're hit, we're hit!" MacKenzie cried.

"You think?" Hawke muttered sarcastically wrestling for control. Both hands were on the stick now as he struggled to keep her in the sky and it was a battle he knew he was losing. "We're going down, Mac" he rasped. "We're going down."

Camp appeared on the rapidly approaching horizon. The ground now rushing up to greet them, Hawke pulled back on the collective flaring the rounded nose of the Huey up even as the skids hit and bumped, the tail smacking hard into the ground behind it. Thrown forward, rotors thwacked into the ground, shearing off and sending shrapnel flying before the whole thing came to a convulsive, shrieking clash of metal.

Dimly Hawke thought of Dom and home as his head smashed into the windshield of the helicopter rising up to meet him. Regret swelled in his throat at the thought of Dom and the pain his death would cause him. "I'm sorry, Dom," he whispered, darkness closing in on him. "So sorry."

May 1975

Wearily Stringfellow Hawke shifted in his seat, stretching aching muscles. Nine hours on a transport plane would do that under the best of circumstances. To a man with still healing bones and internal injuries, it was nothing less than excruciating.

Taking a shuddering breath, he swiped a shaking hand over a clammy brow. Home sounded good, he thought, if only he could hang on that long. Maybe pushing so hard to be released early from the military hospital hadn't been such a good idea after all, he conceded.

Hunching forward against the pain, String gritted his teeth, muscle working in his jaw. If he'd made it through a helicopter crash that'd killed half the other guys on board, and two and a half months in a military hospital, he damn sure wasn't going to let a little thing like a plane ride do him in. Dom and home were an hour away and he sure wasn't giving up now.

Stooped over the Stearman parked outside the hanger, Dominic Santini cursed, first in Italian and then in English. When it ran right, it was his pride and joy, but when it didn't… All he had to show for a mornings work was skinned knuckles and a plane sitting on the tarmac laughing at him.

Tightening the wrench for another try, he wrestled with the stubborn bolt. The phone rang and the wrench slipped, whacking him across the hand. Yelping, he threw it down in disgust.

The phone rang again. "Mama Mia!" he exclaimed, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Now what?" the exuberant Italian cried as he reached for a grease rag.

The phone continued to peal insistently, and Dominic loped over to pick it up. Grabbing it up, he answered it mid-ring. "Santini Air," he panted.

Listening, a grin broke out over his effusive features. "Really," he chortled. "Today, huh? Thanks buddy, I appreciate it," he said hanging up the phone.

"Woo hoo!" he yelled throwing his arms up in the air, not caring who heard him. "Woo hoo! Alright!"

"Mr. Santini?" quieried a startled voice.

Swiveling bushy eyebrows in that direction, Dom laughed at the shocked look on the skinny teenager's face.

"Everett!" he yelled, running over and enthusiastically pounding the boy on the shoulder. "Get ready, get the place picked up!"

"Huh?" the lanky teenager asked, completely lost and wondering if perhaps his boss had finally lost it.

"String's coming home!" Dom enthused. "My boy's finally coming home!"

The heat on the tarmac stifling, Dominic Santini waited. Sweat trickled down between his shoulder blades, dampening the dress shirt he wore, but he was oblivious. After eight years of waiting, a few more minutes weren't going to kill him he figured.

In the distance, a plane appeared. Nerves tightening in his stomach, Dom instinctively knew it was String's plane. How he couldn't have said if somebody had asked, he just knew.

Shading his eyes, he waited behind the ropes on the runway with the others, watching the plane taxi to a halt. After what seemed like an eternity, the cabin door opened and passengers poured out, finally slowing to a trickle. Still, no String appeared.

Shifting his weight around uneasily, Dom glanced around. Surely he couldn't have missed the kid? He thought. The trickle of passengers had slowed to a halt now. Searching the crowd one last time with no luck, Dom hesitated. Maybe he'd got the plane wrong? Disappointed he turned to walk back towards the terminal.

He'd barely taken a step when the hair on the back of his neck prickled. Unable to help himself, he turned back to look at the doorway of the plane again. For the longest moment, the doorway remained empty and then Hawke slowly stepped into it. He stood there for a long moment simply looking out at the airfield.

Elation bringing a welcoming smile to his face, Dominic Santini grinned at the boy he'd raised as his own son. Hurrying forward to meet him, he eyed String as he slowly made his way down the stairs. Unease crept into his chest as he watched the stiff, almost painful way the younger man held himself.

Hurrying past the guide ropes now, Dominic grinned his welcome at Hawke even as he catalogued the changes. Gone was the boy who'd left him eight years ago - replaced by a serious faced man. Pain was etched in the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, lines that hadn't been there not so long ago. Underlying it all was an unhealthy pallor to his skin. Conviction dawned that he'd been much closer to losing the boy than he'd ever known.

Ah, String, he thought sadly. What have they done to you and how will I ever make it right again?

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, String gave a sudden grin at Dom, the blue of his eyes matching the cloudless sky overhead. And then all thought disappeared as Dom enveloped him in a joyous bear hug.

"Oh, man it's good to have you back kid!" he exclaimed hugging him like he'd never let him go, tears lining the craggy cheeks.

"It's good to be back, Dom," Hawke replied softly. Hanging on, he hugged the older man back, tears in his own eyes. No matter how bad he hurt, he wouldn't trade this for the world.


	4. Chapter 4

Stunned, Caitlin merely stared at her husband, Stringfellow Hawke. It was an event that didn't happen often, he thought worriedly.

The smell of burning eggplant parmesan brought them both abruptly back into the present.

"I'll get it," Hawke said, lunging off the sofa and grabbing a potholder as he charged into the kitchen. Hurriedly grabbing hold of the pan, he snatched it out of the oven bumping his hand in the process.

"Ow!" he yelped, dumping the tray onto the counter with a crash.

Caitlin hurried to his side as he ran his hand under the faucet. "Let me see," she commanded, reaching for him.

Warily, he gave her his hand to inspect. "It's nothing," he protested quietly as she held his hand gently between hers, turning it over to look.

With a sigh, she looked up at him even as she reached for the burn ointment in the drawer. "With you, it never is," she replied as she smoothed on the cream.

"Cait," Hawke said somberly, "I wouldn't hurt you for the world."

Pausing, she stared down at his hand. "I know," she whispered, tears in her voice.

"It's done though. There's nothing I can do to change it."

"I know."

"It was a long time before us," he continued, his voice rough.

"I know, String," Cait said, finally meeting his eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks. "I know here," she said pointing to her temple, "but here," she said patting her heart, "it hurts. That may take a little longer."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Hawke said sadly, leaning his forehead against hers. "You have to know that."

"No," she said resolutely taking a deep breath. "Like you said, it's done." Reaching up, she slid her hand around the back of his neck, the dark mink strands sliding across her fingers as she did so.

Pulling his head down, her lips met his, her tears making the kiss salty. With a groan, Hawke gathered her close burying his head in her shoulder.

"Sh-hh," she whispered, "we'll be alright." Her arms wrapped around him and held him, her desperation as evident as his.

Crushing her against him, Hawke held her tight enough to hinder her breathing. Tangling his fingers in her red hair, he drug her lips up to meet his, regret and love co-mingling in the kiss.

This mean we're done talking?" Caitlin whispered when they came up for air.

"Yeah," Hawke said, his blue eyes creasing with laughter and relief as he looked at her. "You might say that." Swooping down, he scooped her against him and headed for the stairs.

"Hawke!" Caitlin protested, laughing. "What about dinner?"

"It'll keep," he replied grinning. "Besides, I've already burned it anyway - what's a couple more hours?"


	5. Chapter 5

Impatiently, Hawke paced across the light colored carpet of Michael's office at Red Star, where he'd moved to after taking over the Airwolf project. "What do you mean, make sure it's not a trick, Michael?" he bit out angrily, his voice harsh.

"I'm just saying, Hawke, perhaps you should give me time to check out his story and make sure it's on the level," the spy returned placatingly as he smoothed his mustache with one hand.

Glaring, Hawke turned. "On the level?!" he exploded. "Michael, it's like looking in a mirror - granted maybe twenty years ago, but you can't miss the resemblance. You should have seen Saint John's face when he saw him! I had the devil's own time getting out past Saint John and not explaining that one!"

Looking at the younger man standing there, tie askew and gesturing wildly, Archangel had to admit something obviously had him riled up. It was never a good sign when he found Hawke waiting on him first thing when he came into the office in the morning.

"Alright, alright," he said at last, knowing from previous experience, once Hawke got his mind set on something, there was no reasoning with him. Pushing to his feet, rosewood cane in hand, Michael skirted the desk. Limping, he made his way across the room to the computer display on the far side of the room.

"I did as you asked and ran a check on Nhi Huong and her husband, Sam," he commented tapping the keyboard, pulling up files on both of them. "At first glance, everything looks normal. Sam Roper was working as a flight instructor for the military. Had been forever."

"And Nhi Huong?" Hawke asked raising an eyebrow.

"Well, it would appear she transferred into the private sector about two years ago. She went to work for a company called Chem-Tech."

"Chem-Tech?" Hawke exclaimed in surprise.

"Ah, I see you've heard of them," Michael returned eyeing him intently.

"Yeah," Hawke said, his disquiet evident on his face. "They contract out to the government on weapons research. Last I heard, they were developing technology to increase accuracy in artillery and close-in weapon systems. Something about using a plasma cartridge to ignite and control the ammunitions propellant."

Marella raised her dark eyebrows in surprise.

"You never cease to amaze me," Michael replied glancing between her and the pilot.

Hawke quirked a wry grin at him. "Thanks, I think. So," he said turning and resuming his pacing, "they create the electrothermal-chemical guns of the future. What's this got to do with Nhi Huong?"

"Well," Michael said straightening and leaning against the console. "There are rumors in the intelligence community they had a breakthrough in the FLARE technology in the past year."

"Rumors?" Hawke seized on his comment. "What kind of rumors?"

"They've achieved feasibility."

At that comment, Hawke froze eyes widening. "That'll make ever weapon system out there obsolete, Michael."

"True," Michael said nodding grimly. "The only problem is, the scientist who made the breakthrough is missing."

"Damn," Hawke breathed, blue eyes flashing.

"My sentiments exactly," Michael replied, stepping away from the console and leaning heavily on his cane. "Though I might have used something a little stronger."

"So, where does Nhi Huong tie into this?" Hawke asked running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Dr. Sharoni, the missing scientist was her boss. She typed his notes and ran his office for him".

"So, she might have seen something or come across something she wasn't supposed to," String mused.

"It's entirely possible," Archangel replied. "The boy's right. The circumstances of the accident don't add up."

"And the boy?" Hawke asked going preternaturally still. "How does he figure in, Michael?"

"Hard to say," Michael replied. "It may be as simple as somebody thinks Nhi Huong might have told him something. Nonetheless I think you ought to stay out of it and let us handle it."

"You have got to be kidding…" Hawke drawled in disbelief. "He comes to me asking for my help, and now you want me to walk away from my own flesh and blood? Not bloody likely!"

"We can offer him protection, Hawke." Archangel rejoined, drawing on all his years of experience negotiating and deal-making. In some ways, the spy thought humorlessly, dealing with Hawke was much the same. At any rate, it was every bit as potentially explosive.

"Hmp-hh," Hawke grunted.

"Come on, Hawke," Michael tried again. "You're hardly a dispassionate party here and you have to admit it's interesting he shows up on your doorstep after all these years."

Nhi Huong sent him," Hawke rejoined.

"Yeah, but to what purpose Hawke? You haven't seen her in ten years. She never even would admit to the boy being you son. Why now?"

Shrugging, Hawke looked away uncomfortable. "What difference does it make, Michael? He's here now."

"What diff…? Hawke!" he rejoined. "We're talking about national security here, not to mention your life!"

"Michael, I made a promise. I have every intention of keeping it," he grated, his voice dangerous.

"I understand that," the spy returned, meeting his uncompromising gaze with his own intent one. "I'm just saying, let us check out his story a little more."

"Fine, you do what you've got to do, Michael," Hawke retorted his shoulders rigid as he stalked towards the door. As he got there and turned the handle, he looked back over his shoulder at the spy. "Just remember, I'll do what I have to do," with that he strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

Worriedly, Archangel stared after him. Finally, he reached up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, I know Hawke," he sighed. "Believe me, I know."

Reaching for the phone, Michael called for Samantha. "Samantha," he began without preamble, "I need you to get me everything we have on Nhi Huong Trung, Sam Roper, Stringfellow Roper and a company called Chem-Tech - past and present. Priority One. Give it to Marella as soon as you have it.

Plunking the phone back into it's base, Archangel sat. Templing his fingers together on the desk, he sighed looking over at the computer display across the room. Taking off his glasses, he leaned back in his chair, rubbing his one good eye wearily. "Let's just hope I can hold up my end of the deal, Hawke." he muttered. "Let's just hope…"

Ensconced in the small office of Santini Air, Hawke went over plans for the film shoot tomorrow. A cup of coffee long since gone cold sat at his elbow. With any luck, he'd hoped to be done long before his brother, Saint John returned and avoid the inevitable questions he knew were coming.

Setting his notes back down, Hawke admitted ruefully he wasn't making much progress. Frustrated, he raked his hand through the short, coffee -brown strands of his hair rumpling it. How, he wondered, did he answer Saint John's questions when he didn't know the answers to the questions himself?

Leaning his head wearily into his hands, Hawke jumped when the shrill ring of the phone jolted him back to reality. Snatching the receiver up, he growled, "Santini Air."

After a long pause, a metallic voice came on the line. "Listen up, and listen good. Stay out of the affair concerning Roper. It doesn't concern you."

"Who is this?" Hawke demanded angrily. "What do you …"

"Shut up!" the disembodied voice ordered, cutting him off. This is your one and only warning. Stay out of it, or you and your family will end up dead." At that, the phone clicked off.

Raging, Hawke slammed the phone down. In an instant, he snatched up the battered leather flight jacket he'd draped over a chair earlier and reached down into the metal desk drawer for the .45 he kept there. Sliding the gun into the small of his back, he slipped on the jacket over it, dropping another clip into his pocket as he did so.

Heading out of the office at a determined clip, Hawke loped over to the Santini Air jet ranger and swung into the cockpit. Shoving the headset on his head, nimble fingers flying over the buttons, kicking the rotors into motion he impatiently waited for rotor speed so he could begin his ascent. Pulling back on the collective, he swung the jet ranger into the air and away from the hanger.


	6. Chapter 6

Standing across from his younger brother, Seb in the hanger at Red Star, Hawke rubbed his chin wondering uneasily what to say.

"Okay, out with it, bro," Seb quipped. Something's eating you. Let's hear it."

Hawke grinned abruptly. "Cut right to the chase don't you?"

"Yep," Seb tossed back. "So, spill."

"I need a favor," Hawke said.

"Sure," Seb commented off-handedly.

"You might want to wait until you hear what it is, before you agree." Hawke returned.

"Why? It involve breaking the law?" the younger man wise-cracked.

"Pretty much," Hawke rejoined, "among other things." He watched the amusement slide from his face.

"So, we'll go in here," Hawke said, pointing one tanned finger at the fence depicted on the Chem-Tech blue print spread before him and Seb on his dining room table.

"What about the alarms when we cut the fence?"

"Don't worry about it, I'll use Airwolf to take care of it."

"Easy for you to say."

"I'll take care of it Seb, believe me I'm not wanting to get caught any worse than you are."

"You sure?" Seb asked a little worriedly.

"I'm sure. I'll get us in, all you have to worry about is getting us the info," Hawke said. He paused. "You know, Seb," he said looking his younger brother in the eyes, "you can always back out. It's still your choice…"

"I said I was in," he avowed. "I meant it."

"Great," Hawke grinned, allowing his relief to show. "Good to have you."

Sliding his magnetic key card through the reader, Stringfellow Hawke slipped silently through the entrances to Red Star. Calmly striding down the halls, he greeted Jerry, who ran the evening security and one of Michael's angels - which one though he really couldn't say, after awhile all the beautiful women in white just blurred into one. Smiling at her, he held open the elevator door flirting just a little.

A couple of floors later, Hawke disembarked giving her an easy grin as the doors closed behind him. The elevator gone, he headed for the stairwell taking the steps two at a time without a backward glance.

Walking out of the stairwell door into the hanger, Hawke strode quickly over to where the sleek, deadly black aircraft known as Airwolf sat. Sliding a fond hand over it, he slipped into a grey flight suit.

Opening the cockpit door with a whoosh of pressurized air, Hawke climbed in, reaching for his helmet. "Any problems?" he asked, slanting an amused glance at the engineer's console.

Hesitantly, Seb's head poked up from below. "No," he returned, still looking nervous. "Anybody see you?"

"Yeah," Hawke replied his eyes glittering. "Security, and one of Michael's agents."

"They what?" Seb moaned in a horrified voice. "Oh man, we're so dead!"

"Nah," Hawke replied his voice muffled as he slid the helmet into place. He turned and looked over the console at the other man with laughter in his eyes. "Only if they catch us."

Looking decidedly green around the gills now, Seb took his seat at the engineer's position.

"Got the code for the hanger doors?" Hawke asked him, starting the engines and slowly taxiing towards the doors.

"Yeah," he replied. "Opening doors."

Sliding open noiselessly, the hanger doors opened to the starless night outside as the rotors began their slow lopping noise, biting into the air around them with increasing speed. Hanger doors open, Airwolf eased out into the night like a flowing river of darkness.

"Ready?" Hawke asked.

"Would it matter if I said no?" Seb pleaded.

"Sure," Hawke snorted. "Turbos!"

Pulling back on the collective, and hitting the turbos on the cyclic Airwolf's distinctive howl ripped through the still night air as she screamed into the sky.

"Subtle, Hawke. Subtle," Seb grumbled from the back seat. "I'm sure they'll never notice that," he added sarcastically.

Stringfellow Hawke simply smirked, amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth behind his helmet in response.

Laura swept breathlessly into Archangel's office. "It's gone, sir!" she gasped, sounding like she'd run up a flight of stairs, which in fact she had.

"What's gone?" Michael asked, raising a startled blue eye from the paperwork scattered across his desk. In surprise, he stared at his normally unflappable under assistant.

"Airwolf, sir," she answered with a painful gulp.

"What?" he yelped, his hands slamming the top of the desk as he flung himself to his feet.

"When?" he demanded.

"About fifteen minutes ago, sir," she replied cringing, waiting for the next explosion.

"Marella!" he yelled.

Sauntering calmly into his office, a cup of coffee poised in each hand, Marella merely raised one well-coiffed eyebrow at him. "Yes, Michael?"

Flustered, Archangel subsided somewhat. "Laura just informed me Airwolf is gone!"

"Yes, sir," she responded, not seeming in the least surprised.

"Do you know how far it could be gone in fifteen minutes?" he ranted turning to look at her.

She paused considering. "Well, at 1.7 mach that's about 21.25 miles per minute, so…"

"Marella!" he exploded losing all sembalance of patience.

"Approximately 318 miles, sir." she finished, amusement seemed to be tugging at her lips.

"You knew," he said, his good eye narrowing suspiciously. "You knew, and you didn't tell me?" he finished, his voice starting to rise again.

"I suspected," she drawled, emphasizing the last word. Security called up here about ten minutes ago mentioning Capt. Hawke had spoke with them on his way up."

"Hawke's not up here," Michael responded unnecessarily.

"No, sir he's not." There was no doubting it now, he thought. She was smirking.

Realization dawned in Michael in Michael's face. "He took it?"

"It would appear so."

"Oh, good grief!" Archangel flung his hands in the air. "It wasn't enough he stole it before, now he's waltzing into the FIRM control center to take it out joyriding whenever he feels like it?"

"He'll bring it back, Michael," Marella placated. Laura meantime had beat a hasty retreat. "You know that."

"Yeah, I suppose," he muttered grumpily. "What I want to know, is whatever happened to him supposed to be working for us?"

Handing him the coffee cup, she shrugged. "Well, Hawke is Hawke after all. And besides, he warned you."

"Warned me?" Michael quiried, his gaze flying to hers.

"He told you he'd do what he had to do," she responded, calmly taking a sip of her coffee.

Michael groaned in response, dropping heavily into his chair.

"By the way," Marella remarked as she walked out of his office, her drink still in her hand. "We think Seb is with him."

His coffee cup crashed as it hit the wall with surprising velocity as she crossed the threshold into the hall. Lips quirking in amusement, Marella kept walking staccato heels clicking on the hallway tile.

Heading silently towards the Chem-Tech facilities Airwolf cut through the starless night in stealth mode like a deadly shadow.

"Infared," Hawke called out from the cockpit.

"You got it," Seb returned, earlier nervousness forgotten in the adrenaline rush of the mission.

"Kick on IFF scanner," Hawke commanded.

"Beginning target identification."

Focusing on the layout in front of him with Airwolf's Starlight Amplification System Hawke didn't respond. Methodolically, he made pass after pass cataloging the building's weaknesses.

"Got it," he finally spoke after about the fifth pass. "I'm going to set her down behind that ridge."

"What about the alarms?" Seb asked.

"On it. Deploy ADF pod."

"Huh?"

"ADF pod," Hawke snapped.

"Deployed," Seb responded, knowing to keep his doubts to himself this time.

"Maverick," Hawke called. A second later, a single missile shot took out the generating system that supplied primary power to Chem-Tech.

Giving a satisfied glance to the now smoking rubble, Hawke turned Airwolf away towards the nearby ridge. Sliding over the ridge she settled to a landing in the darkness with the barest of thumps.

"Let's go," Hawke said, sliding his helmet off unconcernedly. Reaching behind the seat, he grabbed a black bag Seb hadn't even noticed.

Letting out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, Seb nodded. Clambering, he slid out of the helicopter, booted feet hitting the ground quietly.

"Here," Hawke said tossing him a can.

Glancing down, Seb raised an inquiring eyebrow. "Shoe polish?" he asked.

"Yep," he replied laconically.

"Do you really think that's necessary?"

"Don't know. Do it anyway," Hawke said tersely. Turning on his heel, he headed down the slope, not looking to see if Seb followed him.

Realizing he was about to get left, Seb hurriedly swiped a streak of black shoe polish across both cheeks and hustled down the path after Hawke. He caught up with him at the fence. Electrified of course, he thought mentally rolling his eyes.

Crouched down, the older chopper pilot fumbled through the bag. Grasping a pair of cables that looked remarkably like the jumper cables in Seb's car, he whispered, "Get back. Just in case something goes wrong."

" 'kay," Seb answered deferring to him.

Pausing, Hawke looked at him seriously. "If anything happens to me, you make sure you get Airwolf back to Red Star."

Nodding, Seb agreed.

"I mean it, Seb," Stringfellow Hawke's serious blue eyes gazed intensely at his brother. "No matter what happens, we can't lose Airwolf."

Solemnly staring back, he answered. "Understood," he promised suddenly sober. "No matter what."

"Good," Hawke answered, the moment gone as abruptly as it'd come.

Turning back to the task at hand, he reached for bolt cutters and slid on heavy gloves. "Wish me luck," he muttered wryly. Cutters poised next to the fence he squeezed his eyes shut as metal jaws cut the first wire. Snapping through with a decisive click, Hawke let out a shaky breath realizing he was still alive. Hurriedly, he cut through the rest of the wires leaving a hole big enough for them both to easily slide through.

Climbing quickly through the opening, he tossed the tools back into the bag and slung it over his shoulder as Seb joined him. Crouching, the two of them ran for the building guns in hand. Merging with the darkness, Seb waited covering Hawke's back as he deftly picked the door lock.

Sliding noiselessly inside, he warily scanned the office .45 in hand. Motioning Seb to join him, they split up, quickly scoping out the offices for anyone. Finding no one, Hawke jerked his head towards the computer in the main office.

Interpreting his signal, Seb immediately set to work. Impatient fingers booted the computer to life off of backup power, while fishing out spare jump drives and disks.

Shifting his weight uneasily, Hawke checked the window again. "Hurry up," he whispered.

"Working on it," his brother returned without rancor. Gloved fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up directories and files, discarding without a second thought. Finally, coming across something that didn't seem to fit he hesitated.

"Find it?" Hawke asked, slanting a glance his way.

"Maybe," he returned noncommittally, loading the file on the jump drive. Fingers ticking through the keys, he kept hacking, copying anything that looked like it might be of interest on to the jump drive.

A noise outside had Hawke spinning back to the window, gun poised. Carefully he slid the blind to the side with the barrel of the .45. "Time to go!" he announced tersely.

"Just a minute," Seb muttered trying to finish uploading a file.

"Now, Seb!" Hawke bit out. "We can't use the file if we're dead!"

Snatching the jump drive out of the computer finally, and grabbing the discs Seb ran a cloth across the surface of the desk and keyboard. "You touch anything else?" he asked Hawke.

Startled by his thoroughness, Hawke shrugged. He hadn't even thought about fingerprints. He shook his head. "Don't worry about it, " he said hustling Seb out the back. "I'm already up to my armpits in alligators - what difference is one more going to make?"

Crouched by the back entrance they waited, both scanning the shadows for movement. Motioning Seb to stay put, Hawke ran for the nearby car parked in the lot. Making it, he gestured for Seb to join him.

Blonde head ducked, he loped towards him. Bullets rang out almost instantly behind him. "Get down!" Hawke yelled, leveling off return fire.

Army crawling towards the car, Seb headed his way. The bullets pounded into the ground next to him. Throwing his arms instinctively over his head, Seb ducked.

Cursing, Hawke levered off a couple more shots in the direction of the building from which they had come. "Come on, Seb!" he yelled in frustration. Running the last few feet to where Seb lay, he grabbed hold of his collar and physically dragged him back.

Both men breathing heavily, they flattened up against the side of the car, bullets still zinging around them. "We gotta make it back to Airwolf," Hawke panted. "Take the back fence to where we came in. I'll cover you!"

Mutely, Seb nodded in response, bracing himself for the first run. Hawke gave him the signal and he tore off in a hunched sprint for heavier bushes. Firing off a couple of shots in the previous direction, Hawke waited.

Once Seb was there, he took off after him. Around him he heard rifle fire as it hit the ground in front of him and the answering report of Seb's Walther PPK firing back. Flinging himself to the ground, he crawled the last remaining feet.

Sucking in a deep breath they both ran for the fence, diving through simultaneously. Hitting the ground and rolling, String came up firing.

"Hustle it!" he yelled at Seb, as the other scrambled to his feet joining in the firefight.

Staggering across the uneven terrain they both made for the helicopter. Scrambling, they clamored up the hillside, rocks sliding and bouncing behind them. Shoving his gun into his waistband, Hawke grabbed handfuls of brush dragging himself up as he did so.

Making the crest of the hill, Seb tossed a glance over his shoulder before heading down the other side. "Look out String!" he yelled, grabbing his Walther and firing behind Stringfellow. Flinching, Hawke ducked and kept coming.

"Go, Seb! Go!" Hawke yelled, his lungs gasping for air. Glancing at him, Seb shoved the gun into his belt and threw himself down the slope, tucking into a roll as he did so. Following his example, Hawke lunged off the top of the hill sliding and falling as he went.

Reaching the bottom, Seb sat up dazed. Shaking his head, he wobbled to his feet. Staggering, he made his way to the passenger side door of Airwolf and clamored in. Exhausted, he looked up into the faintly glowing horizon and hunted for his brother.

Sliding and tumbling, Hawke made his bumpy way down the hillside, falling and sliding the last fifteen feet or so on his rear as he did so. He skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust at the bottom. Wearily, he rolled to his hands pushing himself up.

Gaining his feet, he limped towards the Lady ducking another round of fire. Opening the cockpit door with a whoosh, Hawke hauled himself up, gratefully slamming the door behind him. Reaching a tired hand towards the instrument panel he kicked the rotors into motion.

"You okay kid?" he asked, sliding the helmet on, watching bullets fly harmlessly off the bulletproof glass as the Lady gathered herself for liftoff.

No response. Concerned Hawke looked over his shoulder at his brother, Seb. "You okay, Seb?" he asked again even as he eased Airwolf up into the air.

Startled, Seb flashed a glance his way. "Oh. Yeah," he replied flustered. A grin of pure relief and shock plastered itself across his features. "I'm great," he said, his voice gaining strength. "Great!"

Giving a laugh, Hawke turned his attention back to Airwolf as she gained lift. Retracting the landing gear, he pulled back on the collective easing her into the fading night sky. She slowly turned towards home.

"Ready?" Hawke asked.

"Ready," Seb answered back.

"Turbos."

"Turbos," the younger man answered cheerfully slamming the lever into place.

Hitting the turbo button, Hawke swung Airwolf around into the night, her howl echoing on the wind.


	7. Chapter 7

Hawke dropped off Seb at the outskirts of Van Nuys, grateful yet again that when Karen Hansen had last worked on the Lady she'd tweaked the radar imaging to allow the Lady to pass as a jet ranger - so long as she didn't fly too fast. At least, he thought, Seb would emerge from this adventure hopefully without incurring Michael's wrath.

Reaching for the communication button, he radioed in for air clearance to Red Star, knowing better than to hope Michael hadn't noticed his prize jewel's disappearance.

Easing around to the landing pad near the hanger, Airwolf settled to the ground with her signature growl. Hawke was out and to the ground before her rotors had even stopped spinning.

He'd barely taken two steps towards the hanger when Michael stepped out. Taking in the agent's icy, controlled demeanor, Hawke sighed. So much for him avoiding his wrath.

"Michael," he greeted him, giving him an anticipatory look.

"Hawke," he returned, striding towards the pilot, the limp readily evident this morning. Sympathetically, Hawke eyed the spy as he headed for him. If he was feeling every ache and pain this morning, then he knew Archangel had to be hating life - bound to make a man grumpy, he mused with a twitch to the lips.

Reaching him, Hawke didn't have to wait long for Archangel's reaction. "Have fun, Hawke?" he asked, pale blue eye meeting the other's gaze balefully.

"Why yes, Michael," Hawke rejoined, smothering a smile. "I did."

"Dammit Hawke!" the other snarled, "How many times do I have to remind you. Airwolf is not your personal toy!"

"And I told you, Michael," Hawke retorted, his own temper surging, "I'd do whatever I had to do!"

"Yeah," the white-clad agent said subsiding, his gaze dropping to his shoes. "You did say that. Marella told me I should have listened."

"Well, maybe you should have," Hawke rasped.

"So, did you find anything?" the spy asked, keeping pace with Hawke as he headed for the hanger.

Trying not to let his jaw drop, String tossed a surprised glance Michael's way. Surely he wasn't getting off that easily?

Apparently so, he realized reading the sincerity in Michael's question.

"Don't know. Haven't had time to decode the files."

"Bring them in and I'll get Marella to give you a hand."

"Thanks," he said dryly, "but I think I've got it covered."

"Well, the offer stands," Michael replied, turning away to the elevator. "Let Seb know."

Unwittingly, Hawke's gaze snapped to Michael even as the doors closed shut behind him. So much for keeping that a secret, he mused ruefully, heading off to the lockers.

An hour later, Hawke walked into the offices of Santini Air, hair still curling damply at his collar and realized his luck hadn't improved. If anything, he thought in frustration, it was getting worse.

"String," Saint John greeted him coolly, his big, raw-boned frame sprawled in the desk chair. "Sorry," he said casting a glance at the younger man seated across from him, "this is getting a little confusing. Hawke," he said trying again, hazel eyes decidedly frosty.

Blowing out an exasperated breath, Stringfellow Hawke regarded his older brother stonily. "I see you and Roper have met."

"You might say that," Saint John said, abruptly heaving himself to his feet. "No thanks to you, I might add," he said snarling.

"I thought I told you to lay low," Hawke said, turning to Roper and ignoring his brother.

"And I told you, I don't need a babysitter," Roper tossed back, his own temper flaring.

"All I said was to lay low and give me a chance to look into it," Hawke fired back, reining in his own rising temper with difficulty. "Hell," he said gesturing wildly, "it hasn't even been 24 hours!"

Irritably, Roper conceded the point. "So, have you found anything?" he asked blue eyes flashing.

"I've been a little busy," Hawke retorted.

"Busy?" Roper volleyed back. "Well, it's great to know it's such a priority with you!"

Muscles tensed, Hawke spun on him. "I have plotted a break in, stolen a helicopter and ticked off the deputy director of the FIRM, not to mention stealing some files and getting shot at. It's been a busy evening! I'm sorry if it hasn't moved as quickly as you would have liked." Angrily, he faced them down, the muscle ticking in his lean jaw the only overt sign of what his control was costing him. "I'm working on it!"

Roper back off a little, knowing he was pushing his luck. Saint John however had no such compunction. "You planning on letting us in on it?" he demanded.

"Like I said, I'm working on it. I'll let you know when I find out something."

Disgruntled Saint John backed off, knowing that was all he'd get for now.

"So what happened to bring you back so soon?" Hawke asked, concern lighting his features as a disquieting thought about why Roper had rushed back occurred to him.

"Nothing," Roper denied, his gaze skittering away from Hawke's.

"Right," Hawke drawled, his eyes narrowing. "Now how 'bout

the truth?"

Uneasily the dark-haired pilot shifted his weight. "What makes you think it's not?"

"Call it intuition," he said. "Nothing's ever that simple around here."

"You're right about that," Roper conceded abruptly. He met his gaze and held it. "My ticket just about got punched yesterday."

"Where?" Hawke demanded.

"In flight, engine flamed out - almost didn't recover it in time."

"What makes you so sure it wasn't mechanical failure?"

"You know the flight check those planes go through, Hawke," Roper tossed back.

""Yeah, I do," Hawke replied. "But it still happens."

"It doesn't usually leave you a note when it does though!"

"Huh-hh? What do you mean leave you a note?" Saint John blurted out, reminding both men of his presence in the cramped office.

Turning his attention back to Hawke, Roper continued. "I found a note in my locker when I finally made it back. Somebody had scrawled, "won't miss next time" on a piece of paper and shoved it in.

Searching his face and seeing the truth, Hawke granted the point. "Who knows?" he asked.

"You, me. Saint John. Nobody else. Who am I going to tell Hawke? I can't tell the friendlies from the man-eaters anymore."

Pacing, Hawke rubbed his chin thinking. "I'll see if I can't get Archangel to bring you in. Re-assign you elsewhere. We need to rally our forces, at least 'til we know what we're up against," he mused.

"I don't want to lose my career over this, Hawke," Roper cautioned. "I've worked damn hard to get where I am. I'd rather not throw it all away."

"Fair enough," Hawke replied, slapping the pilot on the shoulder. "Just keep in mind, your career isn't worth much if you're dead. Besides," he added with a snort, "Michael's nothing if not diplomatic."

"Hawke," Archangel's voice came over the secured video line. "Our best bet is to have Roper re-assigned here to Red Star. We can keep an eye on him that way and put our heads together. I'll send the orders via Langley immediately."

"Thanks, Michael," Hawke said, trying to ignore the relief that oozed through his body at the spy's words.

"I could tell you, don't thank me 'til you find out what it's going to cost you," Michael rejoined, humor lighting his blue eye.

"And what's it going to cost me, Michael?" Hawke asked, his gaze narrowing.

"I'll let you know," the other said, signing off with a grin.

"Well, at least that's taken care of," Hawke said, turning back to the others gathered in Dom's old office.

"Yeah, but what exactly am I supposed to do?" roper questioned, gesturing abruptly with his right hand. "I don't fly helicopters, and I'm not exactly a spy!"

"Well," Hawke said his eyes brightening momentarily before he answered. "Maybe it's about time we changed all that."

The other scowled.

"Look at it this way, it's a learning opportunity," Hawke said shrugging. "Who knows, maybe you'll like flying helos and it sure won't hurt your resume any."

"Maybe you're right," Roper conceded.

"Besides," the older pilot tossed back with a devilish grin. "Airwolf isn't your regular old helicopter."

Two pairs of stunned eyes followed his retreating back as he headed out into the hanger.

"Hey, are you guys coming or what?" Hawke yelled back. "I thought we'd go see Seb and check out what he's found out."

Scrambling, they headed out behind him.


	8. Chapter 8

Seated in the cockpit, headset in hand Hawke waited. "I thought we might as well get started," he said meeting Roper's blue eyes as he drew even with the helicopter.

"Now?" the young man asked in surprise.

"No time like the present," Saint John chuckled slapping the other man on the back. Grabbing a hold of the strap, he slung himself up into the back of the jet ranger.

Nonplussed, the younger jet pilot huffed. Raking his hand through light brown coffee-colored strands, standing them on end, he finally agreed. "Fine."

"Great," Hawke said grinning. He reached over, shut the door beside him and slid the headset on, eyes twinkling merrily.

Roper trotted around to the other side of the helicopter and swung up. Mimicking the other's movements he slid the headset on. "Okay, now what?"

Glancing over at him, Hawke stifled a grin. Wonder if this is how Dom felt teaching Saint John and me? he mused.

"Pre-flight," he said focusing his attention on the instruments once more. Strong, slender fingers pointed out various buttons and levers, his voice huskily explaining the whole while as he started up the helicopter.

Sitting in the back, Saint John felt his own grin escape watching the two of them. Dom would've enjoyed this. String, "Hawke" he mentally corrected himself was so meticulous - pointing out each step along the way, and Roper so serious - following along intently. Reminiscing, he thought back to Dom teaching him and Hawke all those years ago.

"Ease up on the stick, kid," Dom's good-natured voice rippled through the earphones to Saint John. Fourteen year old, Stringfellow Hawke frowned in concentration, a scowl marring his serious features as he corrected the main rotors attitude again. Evening out the helicopter, String risked a quick glance at Dom.

"Doing great, kid!" Dom's enthusiastic words filled String's ears.

Grinning despite himself, String basked in Dom's words of praise. Snapping his attention back to the task at hand String pulled back on the collective, lifting the helicopter higher even as she eased forward - albeit a bit wobbly.

"Good, good," Dom remarked. "Okay, add a little left rudder."

Swinging abruptly hard left, the helicopter shuddered.

"Dom?!" the boy's voice edged with the barest panic came.

"Right rudder, String." Dom's voice came calmly, despite the uneven yawing of the craft. Saint John grabbed a hold of the seat in the back, hanging on.

The helicopter swung right - hard.

"Dom!" the boy's voice was more than a little panicky now. "What do I do??"

Abruptly the craft evened out, Dom taking back control. "I've got you son, it's okay."

Relieved the boy wiped sweaty palms on worn jeans, blue eyes wide. Taking a deep breath he relaxed - momentarily.

"Okay, String take back over," Dom commanded evenly.

"Me?" the boy's voice squeaked. "But…"

"You were doing fine, just need some more practice." Dom glanced to the right at him, his eyes hidden behind the aviator glasses he wore. "I'm letting go now…"

Startled, the boy grabbed for the controls even as Dom let go. Nervous hands grasped and balanced out the helicopter, even if the grip was white knuckled.

Appraisingly, the older man eyed the lanky boy proudly. Even scared to death the kid thought on his feet.

"Okay," Dom said after a moment. "I'm going to give you back rudders."

The kid threw an uneasy, wide-eyed look at him even as he automatically corrected the wobble his wandering attention caused.

"Just remember, nice and easy String," he reminded him. "Small corrections."

Heaving a huge breath, String placed ratty, sneaker clad feet on the pedals, taking back control of the craft.

From the back, eighteen year old Saint John grinned. The boy, he thought smugly was doing pretty good - not as good as him of course, but still…Shifting, he hung over the seat to get a better view of the entertainment.

Frowning, Dom's jaw tightened even as he shook his head warningly at the older boy. Sighing, saint John subsided once more to the back.

Thirty minutes later, the helicopter settled back to earth in front of the hanger, guided back by arms that trembled with exhaustion. Dom's hands were light on the stick backing the boy, ready to catch him if necessary. Flaring upward, she landed with barely a wobble, even if she thudded a bit when the skids hit.

Rotors slowing, Stringfellow Hawke slid the radio headset off, shrugging his shoulders wearily as he did so. Saint John and Dom piled out of the other side and waited for him as he slid down from the cockpit and joined them.

"Not bad my boy!" Dom said patting him proudly on the shoulder.

"Yeah, not bad squirt," the older boy teased him. "Not as good as me, but not bad!"

Sticking his tongue out defiantly the younger boy narrowed his eyes at him, before turning his back on his brother.

In companionable silence, the trio walked back to the hanger. After a long moment, the younger Hawke brother cleared his throat. "Hey Dom?" he asked with studied nonchalance, kicking his sneakered toe at the clump of grass in front of him.

"Yeah, kid?" the pilot replied.

"If you're not busy tomorrow, do you…" his voice trailed off nervously. Swallowing he tried again, "do you think we could go up again, tomorrow?"

Laughing heartily, the man hugged his young ward's shoulders briefly before letting him go. "Yeah, String. I think we can work something out," he said tousling his brown hair, and affectionately thumping his brother on the back.

Feeling the jet ranger swing hard left and then nose down, Saint John's attention jerked back to the present.

"Too much left rudder," he heard Hawke's even tones, even as the aircraft overcorrected and came hard right. Feeling the seat belt snap tight even as he slid across the seat, Saint John grabbed hold.

"Small corrections," Hawke directed. "Do it a little bit at a time, don't rush."

Lurching slightly the helicopter evened out, still wavering somewhat, but nothing like the nausea inducing roll of minutes before. Saint John heaved a sigh of relief, he'd been thinking he was going to regret that second doughnut there for a minute.

"Not bad," came Hawke's voice over the radio headset. "You want to head northeast," he said motioning with his right hand. "Seb's house is over that way. You'll need to make a heading about thirty degrees east."

Swaying slightly, the red, white and blue helicopter swung right heading over the nearby field. Closing in on Seb's house, Hawke's hands came down lightly on the controls, evening out the landing even as his voice directed the other's movements. She landed with barely a bump.

Kicking off the power to the rotors, Hawke turned to the pilot seated next to him. "Thought you said you hadn't flown a helicopter before."

"I haven't," Roper answered abruptly. "Why?"

Hawke's eyebrows rose slightly before he glanced over his shoulder at his brother, Saint John. The other shrugged. "Well then, I'm impressed," he returned looking back at the younger man. "Not bad for a first flight, not bad at all."

Raking the headset off with an experienced hand, Hawke placed it on the hook overhead. "Let's go see Seb."


	9. Chapter 9

Loose-limbed stride eating up the distance, Saint John led the way up the beach, Hawke and Roper trailing behind.

"You think Seb will have anything?" Roper asked.

"Hope so, I'd like to think there was some purpose to me getting shot at."

Reaching the deck, Seb greeted the at the door wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. "String!" he exclaimed, still examining the computer printouts he held, "you'll never believe what I found!" Raising his head for the first time, he looked at his two new guests. Immediately he realized the gaff. "Uh, Hawke, um String, er- Roper?" An embarrassed flush spread across his cheeks as he spread out his hands in surrender. "Sorry," he said addressing the younger man. "What exactly do I call you? No one told me, and this whole String and String thing is getting a little confusing."

Staring at him for a moment, Stringfellow Roper laughed good-naturedly. "Yeah, I guess it would be," he said shy blue eyes sparkling. "Tell you what - let Hawke keep String or whatever you guys call him. I'll go by Roper. It's what most of the guys at the base call me anyway. Besides, he's had the name longer," he teased sending an amused glance Hawke's way.

"Gee, thanks," Hawke rejoined dryly. "You're all heart."

"So long as you realize that," the other tossed back drolly.

"So, Seb," Hawke returned to the problem at hand. "You said you found something?"

"Yeah," the other continued enthusiastically. "Aside from the usual stuff you'd expect, and some really cool info on electro thermal-chemical technology. Hawke, you really ought to check that out…"

"I know what electro thermal-chemical technology is Seb," Hawke interrupted. "Now how about telling me something I don't know?"

Irritated, Seb glared at him. "I just thought you dealing with Michael and artillery and weapons systems it might be useful."

Ever

"I appreciate that," Hawke replied a trace impatiently. "But the problem at hand…"

"Fine," Seb replied sulkily. "The specs are low on the results that they're showing for the technology they've developed - nothing to warrant the money being poured into it."

"And?" Hawke prompted.

"I looked further into it," Seb commented, beginning again to regain his former enthusiasm. "They're cooking the books - there's two sets of data - the one for government consumption and the real one. Catch is it's also looking like they're hunting for buyers for the new technology."

"Who?"

"Libya, for one. Syria. Possibly a few other unknowns."

"Great." Saint John grumbled. "Like we need them to have new toys."

"String - this is big. It could change how wars are fought almost overnight. Everything we've got and the Russians got would be obsolete,"Seb stated worriedly.

"And Nhi Huong found this," Hawke sighed. Well, that pretty much explains how she ended up dead."

"Watch it, Hawke!" Roper flared. "That's my mom you're talking about."

"I don't doubt it, kid," he said barely casting a glance his way. "But you have to admit it goes a long way towards explaining why they want us out of it."

Frowning, the younger man subsided.

"Anything else?" Saint John asked, looking at Seb.

"Well…"

Hawke held up a hand, his head cocked at an odd angle listening. Recognition flashed in his eyes. "We've got company."

Saint John paused, listening as well. "Huey?" he asked uneasily.

Hawke nodded, reaching behind him and pulling out his .45 as he strode to the front windows. Edging aside the blinds with the gun barrel he peered out. "Time to go, kids. Out the back," he directed motioning with his head.

"Seb, take him out the back. Get the jet ranger started," Saint john stated tersely, pulling out his own gun and joining Hawke at the window. Silently, Hawke motioned for Saint John to take the window on the other side of the door.

Watching, Hawke spotted two men pile out of the helicopter, guns drawn as they headed for the condo.

"Take 'em out?" Saint John whispered.

"Not much choice, we can't outrun them, and that's for sure."

Focusing on the men stealthily heading for the front door of Seb's condo, Hawke dimly registered the snick of the back door closing as Seb and Roper made their way quietly out the back. "Ready?" he asked glancing over at Saint John.

Saint John nodded, clicking the safety off his gun. Carefully, he slipped out the door and into the nearby shrubbery on noiseless feet.

Taking cover behind the heavy filing cabinet in Seb's front room, Hawke waited gun drawn. Ears straining, he heard the door furtively open, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors heading in his direction. Counting off the seconds, he estimated where they would be in the room.

Drawing ina deep breath, Hawke stepped out gun in hand. "Freeze right there!"

Instantly a shot rang out, even as Hawke ducked instinctively. He felt the report of the .45 in his hand even as he squeezed off a return shot automatically.

"You heard the man," Saint John snarled gun in hand as he stepped around the doorway, effectively surrounding the two.

Casting a surprised glance behind them, they both froze. Scowling, the heavier of the two raised swarthy hands above his head, gun still in his grip. Casting a furtive glance at Hawke and then Saint John, the second man hesitated.

"Now!" Hawke commanded, "or so help me, I'll blow a hole in you where you stand!"

Grudgingly, the second man's hands came up.

"Drop the guns," Saint John ordered feeling his gut relax a little.

Simultaneously, two nasty looking Browning 9mm hit the floor, thudding loudly as they did so.

"Over by the wall," Hawke directed gesturing with a jerk of his head.

Giving them a shove in the right direction, Saint John expertly began to pat the heavier man down. Hawke kept his gun trained on the two men, even as his eye's followed his brother's every move.

Then abruptly, he caught the flash of movement even as Saint John reached for the second man. Out of nowhere, Saint John found himself grappling for a second gun even as String prayed for a clear shot. Muscular hands drug Saint John back, slamming a knee into his ribs even as he fought to keep the gun pointed away from his chest.

"Saint John!" String yelled, shoving his suddenly useless gun into his belt. Lunging, he leapt into the fray, throwing himself at the man nearest him. Rolling they hit the floor, the other man ending up on top.

Drawing back, the man slammed a beefy fist into his face. Grunting, String absorbed the blow, his lip bleeding. Pinned and struggling, he aimed a return blow at the other man's kidneys.

The punch landed without much effect and he got another punch to the face for his trouble. Kicking out this time, he managed to roll the man off him, his nose bleeding profusely now. On top now, he slammed his elbow into the other's face feeling the crunch of bone as it hit.

Unhesitatingly, he followed it up with a backfist to the face. Moaning, the man fought back, even as Hawke slammed his right fist into his face.

Strong arms clamped around his throat, tightening and cutting off air, crushing his windpipe. Struggling to merely breathe now, Hawke scrabbled to break the neck hold even as his vision grayed. Wrenching the thug's grasp loose, Hawke slammed his knee into the other's ribs. Gaining the advantage, Hawke swung a hard right punch, throwing all his weight behind it this time. He watched in relief as the guy collapsed beneath him.

Panting he raised his head to hunt for Saint John. Across the room, the two men struggled. Wincing, Hawke watched as Saint John got slammed into the corner of Seb's heavy filing cabinet and hit the ground. Even as he watched his brother wearily pushing to his feet, the swarthy man reached down and picked up the forgotten Browning.

Eyes widening in horror, Hawke reached behind him and drew his own weapon. Unthinkingly, he pulled the trigger repeatedly. Even as he fired, he saw the other's finger tighten on the trigger and he knew he was seconds too late.

"Saint John!" he screamed, scrambling to his feet, staggering.

The man Hawke shot hit the floor, dead before he ever fell. The 9mm he held fell to the floor with a flat thud, Hawke registered unconsciously even as he flung himself the final yards between him and his brother.

Groaning, Saint John pressed his hand to his side, blood seeping wetly between his fingers.

Taking in the sight, Hawke dropped to his knees beside him shoving his gun into his waistband. "How bad?" he asked worriedly, glancing at his brother's pale face.

Grimacing, Saint John whispered, "I've been better, but I'll live." Pain-filled hazel eyes met sapphire blue.

"You better," Hawke quipped, the joke falling flat even on his own ears. Tan fingers carefully peeled back Saint John's blood soaked ones from the wound for a look. Applying pressure, he probed the wound gently and eased Saint John to his side for a better look.

"Went through," he commented, his voice husky with relief. "It'll hurt like crazy, but you'll be okay."

"Already does," Saint John gasped, as Hawke helped him sit up and get to his feet. Leaning on his brother's slighter frame, the two of them headed down the hall towards the back door.

"Hold on," Hawke said, halfway down the hall. Stopping, he propped his brother against the wall as he slid out from beneath his arm. Saint John regarded him with watchful hazel eyes, his face ashen.

Bending, Hawke rifled through Seb's clean laundry basket sitting in the hall floor.

"Should I even ask?" Saint John asked wearily.

"Need a bandage," Hawke grunted. "This'll work," he said grabbing a handful of soft blue material. "Here."

Saint John took it and held it against his side as they started down the back stairs. Shifting Saint John's weight on his shoulder, Hawke staggered a little, his own aches and pains surfacing as the adrenaline wore off. "Come on, Saint John stay with me," he muttered. "That helicopters a long way off if I gotta carry you."

Giving his head a shake, Saint John fuzzily pulled his attention back. "Sorry," he murmured. "Getting a little woozy."

"Huh," Hawke huffed. "More like not wanting to pull your own weight more like it."

"Wha - ?" Saint John started, realization slipping in that he'd just been insulted. "I pull my own weight and you know it," he retorted self-righteous indignation lending him energy.

"Yeah," Hawke drawled needling his brother further and hiding the grin that threatened to tug at the corners of his mouth. "So I can see."

Feeling more than a little put out, Saint John straightened, his steps steadier. Reaching the door, Roper swung it open as Saint John reached in to climb up. Grabbing a hold of his arm, he pulled him in Hawke giving a shove from behind before he clamored up into the co-pilot's seat.

"Ready?" Seb glanced at him as he lifted the red, white and blue helicopter into the air, sand swirling around them.

"Yeah," Hawke said sliding the headset on. "Let's get this bird in the air." Instinctively, he reached for the controls even as Seb had the rotors biting air.

"Want to take over?" he asked amused watching.

"Uh, no," Hawke said flushing, realizing his gaff had been so apparent.

"It's okay, String," Seb smirked. "We know you just can't help yourself," Relinquishing up the controls he glanced back at Saint John. "You okay?"

"I'll live." the other grunted, shifting uncomfortably.

Seb quirked a glance at String. Shaking his head, he mouthed, "Don't ask." Getting no help in that direction, he looked back at his older brother. "Hey Roper, fish out the first aid kit back there by the seat and see if you can give him a hand."

"I'm on it," Roper said, hunting around for the kit.

"I'm fine," Saint John asserted.

"You're bleeding," Seb retorted looking at the blood soaked cloth he held. "Get the kit."

"I said, I'm fine," Saint John stated emphatically.

"Which is why that blue rag is covered in your blood… hey, wait a minute," he said doing a double take. "That was my new shirt!"

"Was being the operative word," Hawke snorted.

"String!"

Digging the kit out, Roper fished out the gauze.

Blood-stained fingers snagged it out of his grasp, even as he rifled for the tape in the kit. Dropping the contested blue shirt onto the floor of the helicopter, Saint John held the bandage over his wound as the younger man worked to tape it in place.

"You okay?" he said, looking up at the wounded man as he finished. Stunned, he watched Saint John give him a half-grin and shake his head ruefully.

"Yeah. Welcome to the family, kid," the blonde-haired pilot quipped.

Rolling his eyes, Roper shook his head. Obviously Nhi Huong had known what she was doing with this bunch, he thought.


	10. Chapter 10

Scowling, Michael glared at the three men seated across the desk from him. As if one Hawke hadn't been enough to drive him to distraction, now he had four of them.

"So, let me get this right," he said glowering at Stringfellow Hawke leaned nonchalantly against the door frame, his arms crossed. "You want me to let you offer up sensitive weapons information you just stole and to risk Airwolf on this harebrained scheme. Are you mad, Hawke?!" Michael thundered. "Why in Hade's name would I do that?!"

"Because it'll work, Michael," Hawke retorted, uncoiling himself from the wall.

"And if it doesn't?" he demanded.

"It'll work."

"It better, you're betting your life and Airwolf on it."

"Hey, String - he cares!" Saint john mocked good-naturedly.

Archangel speared him with a baleful glare.

Carrying coffee cups for everyone, Marella interjected herself into the conversation. "I don't like it any better than you do Michael, but we've got to do something," she said setting the tray down with a thunk.

"You're right, of course," Archangel agreed sighing. His free hand smoothed his mustache thoughtfully. "Perhaps…"

"So, who makes the contact?" Caitlin interrupted, worry dancing in her blue-green eyes, as she glanced at her husband and the rest of the group.

"I will," Hawke said.

"You can't String," Saint John contradicted almost immediately. "We need you in the cockpit of Airwolf. It'll have to be someone else."

"Well, you're not going," Caitlin protested. "You just got shot. You're not in any shape to be running around playing soldier."

"I'll go," Roper said, speaking up for the first time. "I'm the logical choice - I've got the most training of who's left and they've got less targets to come after me with than they do you guys. Besides, it was my problem to start with - seems only right I should be a part of solving it."

Mentally, Caitlin gave a sigh of relief. She knew it was selfish, but she was glad for once it wasn't Hawke risking his neck.

String didn't look any too happy about the decision, Archangel mused watching the subtle tightening of his jaw and the way his eyes narrowed at Roper's announcement. He never was, when someone took a greater risk than him.

Which is why his next statement caught Michael by surprise. "Fine," he announced his tone almost unconcerned. "Cait will work the engineer's console and Saint John will take the kids."

"Right," Saint John agreed. "Cait can run engineering and … hey, wait a minute! What do you mean I can take the kids?" Saint John's eyes and Caitlin's both flew to Hawke in confusion. "Where am I taking the kids, String? And why?"

Hawke merely raised an eyebrow at his brother. "As you said, Caitlin's the best choice for engineering."

"Yeah, but…"

"And as Cait said," Hawke continued as if Saint John had never spoken. "You're in no shape to be running around playing soldier."

"But String…" Saint John protested.

"Besides Saint John - Roper makes a valid point. The kids do become a target. Hopefully however, they should be safe enough with you at the cabin, and I can think of no one I'd rather have watching their backs."

"Oh,…" Saint John subsided mollified and somewhat embarrassed. Hawke rarely handed out praise, to hear that in the other's presence was a high compliment, especially from him."

"Well," Michael said easing the awkward moment. "Then I guess it's settled. Roper will make contact and go in. Hawke will fly and Cait's got engineering…"

"Not quite," Hawke interrupted, shifting positions on the bookcase where he'd leaned. "Roper'll make contact, but when he goes in I'll be backing him."

Anguished, Caitlin's eyes flew to him. Studiously, Hawke avoided her gaze. I knew it, she thought, I knew it. That was just too easy. I should have known better. Frustration and her stomach clenching in unease made her want to strangle him. An angry "unh-h," escaped her.

Bright blue eye flashing to her, Archangel read her distress instantly. Knowing he better do something to defuse the situation in a hurry, he shot Marella a glance.

Giving the barest of nods, she acknowledged his look. "So," the slender agent murmured, "where will you be staying Roper?" She poured coffee into Caitlin's cup, long slender hands efficient.

"Huh?" Roper questioned confused. Hawke and Saint John looked a little bemused as well.

"Well," she continued, "obviously you can't go home - it wouldn't be safe, and Seb's condo is out of the question, so…"

Realization blossomed over the younger man's features almost at the same instant it hit Hawke and Saint John. Marella had pointed out what should have been immediately obvious to all of them. Roper needed a safe place to stay until they went in. There could be no mission if he got captured before they even got started.

Saint John and Hawke exchanged glances. Hazel eyes met sapphire blue the offer unspoken. After a long pause, Hawke shook his head almost imperceptively.

The statement when it came was definitive. "He'll stay at the cabin with us, Michael. No one can get in or get out of there without us knowing."

"Gonna be a tight squeeze," Archangel felt compelled to warn. "You're really not set up for that many people out there."

"We'll manage," Hawke replied.

"You sure you wouldn't rather I find a place for Seb and Roper here?" Michael asked.

"I said," Hawke rejoined, "we'll manage," his tone brooked no argument on the matter. The narrowed eyes and crossed arms further emphasized the discussion was over. "It's time we were going."

Sensing the mission was rapidly sliding out of his grasp, Archangel made one last move. "Well, at least take one of the Firm's helicopters. They're equipped for a secure transmission should you need it and no one without security clearance has been near them."

The warning was implied, but Hawke caught it immediately - unlike the 'copters left at the airfield. Painfully his thoughts slid back to the events of ten years ago and the explosion that had claimed his surrogate father, Dominic Santini's life. He drew a sudden, shuddering breath eyes widening momentarily.

"Thanks, Michael," he said somberly, grasping the other's arm.

Archangel met his eyes seriously. "Not a problem, Hawke," he stated quietly. "Just come back safe."

Hawke shrugged with a wry half-grin and turned to leave behind the others already filing out.

"Oh, and Hawke?" Michael called out.

"Yeah?" he said inquisitively turning back.

"You bring the Lady back, safe," he ordered.

"Will do," Hawke grinned, tossing him a mock salute before he was out the door.

The door slammed shut behind him. Michael shook his head and headed back to his desk, limping.

"You think they'll be okay?" Marella's voice cut across his thoughts.

"I sure hope so," Michael responded grimly as he lowered himself into his chair. Templing his fingers thoughtfully, he looked at Marella. "Now here's what I want you to do…"

Heading out to the helipad, Hawke and the others split into two smaller groups.

"Seb," he began. "Why don't you take the Firm's helicopter? Head on out to the cabin - Saint John and Roper can go with you. Cait ands I'll pick up the kids and meet up with you there."

"You sure?" Seb asked, sensing the tension between Hawke and Caitlin. Saint John and I can get them if you'd rather."

"Nah," Hawke said, his lips curving. "We're good. We'll get 'em. See you at the cabin." Fondly, he slapped his younger brother on the shoulder. "Besides, somebody better get Saint John a place to rest before he falls down," he commented nodding his head at Saint John where he sat wearily waiting in the co-pilot seat of Marella's helicopter.

Glancing at their older brother, Seb frowned, worry creasing his forehead.

Hawke gave him a little shake. "He'll be fine. Just get him home so he can rest…okay?"

" 'kay," Seb agreed. He trotted off across the tarmac.

Caitlin watched him go fondly. "He's a good kid," she smiled, a bit sadly.

"Hmm-m?" Hawke asked, swiveling his head towards her. "Yeah, but not such a kid anymore," he whispered idly, watching him go.

Turning, they both headed towards the Santini Air jet ranger. Hawke automatically adjusting his longer stride for Caitlin's shorter one. Affectionately, he draped his arm over her shoulders as they went.

Getting to the ranger, Hawke opened Cait's door and gave her a boost up, before heading around to his side. Swinging up, he reached for the headset.

"Hawke," Caitlin began.

"Yeah?" he said giving her only a fraction of his attention as he ran through the pre-flight.

"Do you have to be the one to back Roper?"

"Huh?" he asked bemused.

"I said, do you have to be the one to back Roper? I have a really bad feeling about this."

"Somebody has to, Cait," Hawke said glancing at her in surprise. "You know that."

"I know," she agreed. "But can't it be one of Michael's agents? Somebody, anybody but you?"

Fingers halting in mid-movement Hawke turned and stared at her. "Why not me?" he asked searching her face earnestly.

"I told you, I've got a really bad feeling about this Hawke. Don't go."

"I can't not go, Cait," Hawke said shrugging and going back to the instrument panel. "Don't worry about it. I'll be okay."

Caitlin bit her lip, tears welling in her blue-green eyes. She knew she was going to be sorry, but she just couldn't seem to swallow the words. They bubbled up in her throat and threatened to choke her try as she might to keep her thoughts to herself.

"You don't owe him, Hawke and it's not worth you getting killed over!" Cringing at her own words, Cait sucked in a heaving breath as tears dripped down her cheeks.

Hawke stared at her in stunned astonishment, even as he processed the words. "What do you mean I don't owe him?!" he exploded abruptly, his own temper escaping. "He's mine and I left him! Left him in that damn hell hole for ten years - without even his mother to protect him. Do you know how that makes me feel Cait? Do you?" he yelled.

Sobbing in earnest now, Caitlin shook her head. "You didn't know String. How could you…" she began.

Furiously, he faced her, slinging down the headset. "Well, obviously I didn't try too hard to find her, did I?" he spat, his tone full of self-loathing. "If I had, things might have been different - that kid might not have spent his childhood roaming the streets and stealing just to eat!"

"String…" she tried again, laying her hand on his arm.

Angrily, he shook her touch off. "You can't possibly know how that makes me feel, can you Caitlin? Can you?" he demanded, any semblance of control long gone. Frustrated beyond measure he slammed his hand into the dash above the instrument panel.

Flinching, Caitlin jumped at the sound.

Static crackling, the radio sprung to life. "Santini One, Santini One, this is Angel Two do you read? Come back."

Frozen, String merely stared at the radio.

"Santini One, do you read?" the voice came again.

Heaving a huge sigh, Hawke looked away from Caitlin and reached for the handset. "Santini One here," he said gruffly. "I read. Come on back, Seb."

"Everything okay?" Seb asked, his voice crackling. "we never did see ya'll take off on radar. Come back."

"We're fine, Seb." Hawke answered, meeting Caitlin's tear-filled eyes and dropping his own. "Just had an unexpected delay. We'll be airborne in a couple of minutes. See you back at home base."

"Okay, Angel Two out," Seb replied, the radio crackling again and then falling silent.

Hawke put the hand mike back. Wearily, he raked a trembling hand across his face and through the short, dark strands of his hair. Leaning his head back, he sighed in despair.

"Look Cait," he began. "I'm sorry. I really am. I know you worry - goodness knows I would in your place. But I can't not go.

I owe the boy whether you know it or not. I could never live with myself if something happened to him and I knew I could have prevented it. You'd be the same way if it were Nicky."

Caitlin reached across the seat to place her hand on the back of his neck. Searching his face for a moment, she wondered when he'd gotten the new worry lines at the corners of his eyes. "I understand," she whispered. "You're right, I would be the same if it were Nicky." Leaning in she kissed his jaw, breathing in the soft musk of his scent.

Reaching over, Hawke held her close for a long moment - his face against hers, their breathe co-mingling damply. "You know I love you, don't you Mrs. Hawke?" he murmured.

"Yeah," she gave a tear-choked laugh. "You'd better." Giving him a quick peck on the cheek, she pulled away and handed him the headset. "Come on, we'd better go before Seb sends out the search party."


	11. Chapter 11

Expertly Seb piloted the white helicopter towards Hawke's cabin, skirting the edge of the restricted air zone. What he lacked in String's easy finesse with a helicopter he more than made up for in cautious precision. Saint John dozed wearily in the co-pilot's seat beside him.

Casting a watchful glance at his older brother, he pointed out the mountains ahead to Roper.

"Long way from everything and everyone," the other commented.

"Yeah, but it's hard to beat for the peace and quiet," Seb returned. "You can go for miles sometimes and not see another soul."

"Not today," Roper retorted.

"What do you mean?" Seb asked.

Roper pointed above and to the left.

Following the other's direction, Seb stared upward for a long moment. After a long minute he returned his gaze to the instruments.

"Coincidence?" Roper asked, unease prickling his neck.

"Don't believe in it," Seb retorted dryly. "Let's see what happens if we change our heading. Swinging left he headed away from the cabin and towards the dam far above the lake.

Several minutes passed in terse silence. "Well?" he finally asked.

Squinting, Roper shifted around in his seat trying to get a better look above. "Still there," he said at last.

"Great," Seb muttered.

"So, what do we do?" Roper questioned, abruptly missing the heavy armament of the planes he normally flew.

"Pray," Seb retorted shortly. Reaching across the cockpit, he jostled Saint John's arm. "Hey Sinj, wake up!"

Snatching himself awake, Saint John shifted. The abrupt movement pulled across the tender flesh on his ribs and he groaned before catching himself. Gingerly, he shoved himself up in the seat and looked at Seb.

"We got company," he explained tersely, pointing.

Hazel eyes narrowed at Seb, before checking the skies. "How long?" he quieried.

"Last seven minutes or so."

"Nothing out this way except the dam and String's cabin," the older blond stated reaching for the controls. "Get String on the horn, and do it now. We got trouble."

Relinquishing the stick, Seb reached for the radio.

Listening to ten year old Nicky, and sister Amelia squabble in the back of the jet ranger, Caitlin rolled her eyes. Unwitting sympathy welled up for Saint John. He only thought he was being kept out of the battle zone watching these two.

Hawke threw a glance her way as he checked the instruments. His blue eyes crinkled in amusement as he stifled a laugh.

Static crackled across the airways, interrupting the moment. "Santini One, Santini One, this is Angel Two. Do you read?"

Hawke flipped the switch for the radio, a chuckle still in his voice. "Angel Two, this is Santini One. We're headed your way, just running a little behind schedule. Over."

"Hawke," Seb's voice cut across his message, his tone urgent. "We've got bandits. I repeat we've got bandits, turn back."

Horrified blue eyes met Caitlin's blue-green. In a heartbeat, she knew the fear Hawke had for his brothers and other son. Angel Two was weaponless and while Seb was a competent pilot, he most definitely was not Hawke. Suddenly pale beneath his tan, String sat back.

"Enough," he barked out, holding up a hand, his voice harsh. "Tighten up your belts and hang on." Eyes wide, Nicky and Amelia subsided in startled silence as their father swung the aircraft hard left and back the couple miles to Red Star. "Hang on Seb," he whispered. "Hang on, I'm coming."

Caitlin reached for the radio switch and placed a call to Marella, even as Hawke pushed the jet ranger forward as hard as she could go.

Three minutes ticked by like an eternity as the craggy rocks of red Star came into view. Swinging the jet ranger around the point, Hawke spotted Airwolf crouched and waiting on the tarmac below. He flared the nose of the jet ranger up and set her down on her skids with a thump that had Caitlin's teeth rattling.

Eight year old Amelia whimpered from the back - more from fear for the others she picked up from her father, than the teeth gnashing landing. Nicky for once didn't tease his sister, but instead grabbed her hand comfortingly. "Daddy?"

Hawke didn't answer, his attention focused on shutting down the jet ranger. Overhead the rotors whopped to a slow halt, flattening Marella's dress against her as she and Michael stepped out from beside Airwolf.

"Come on kids," Cait urged them even as she scrabbled to unfasten her own harness. "We gotta hurry."

Small hands hurriedly clicked open safety harnesses with hours of experience. Scrambling, they clamored out of the jet ranger even as Hawke loped towards Michael and Marella. Caitlin grabbed their hands as they trailed a half-step behind following him.

"Come here kids," Marella encouraged holding her arms out to them as Cait and Hawke spoke in hurried tones with Michael.

"Daddy?" Amelia whimpered plaintively, her blue eyes huge in her face. Turning, String looked down at his daughter, her lower lip trembling as she tried not to cry.

His heart clenched. "Come here sweetie," he said, his own voice husky as he knelt down. He gave her a hard hug, feeling his heart break as he let her go.

Holding her back from him, Hawke searched her face. "I'll be back. I promise. Stay with Marella, she'll take good care of you, okay?"

Nodding the child agreed, fat tears sliding down her cheeks. Hawke turned to his son, standing there silently, waiting. "You take good care of your sister," he said gruffly. Nicky nodded somberly. Hawke rached over and hugged the boy around the shoulder. "Love you."

"Love you too, dad," he replied, a frown marring his features as he reached for his sister's hand and pulled her away towards Marella.

Hawke snatched the cockpit door open with a whoosh as Cait climbed into the engineer's seat behind him. Sharp eyes looked to see the children clear, even as his fingers nimbly flipped the cover and pressed the start up buttons to engage the engine and the rotors.

Rotors swooping the air, she reved up for take-off, the whine of her engines increasing in time with the rotors. Flickering to life, the onboard computers lit with the intricities of wind, hydrolics, fuel and the like.

Reaching for the collective, Hawke called back, "Ready?" to Caitlin even as he prepared to ease back on it.

"Ready!" she returned, her voice steady as her fingers danced over the keyboards. Ascending easily, Airwolf rose into the sky above red Star. Watching the monitors, cait knew the instant they safely cleared the reaches of the hanger. "Clear," she called.

Pushing forward on the stick, Hawke hit the turbos. Surging forward, Airwolf flung herself into the wind, her highpitched banshee cry echoing in the air.

Squinting in the sun, Nicky watched Airwolf's sleek, black shape disappear on the horizon a frown creasing his forehead.

"Come on you guys," Marella said brightly, slinging her arms around their shoulders. "Let's go see what we can find to do inside, while we wait." Sheperding them in, her eyes met Michael's the worry in them as visible as the concern in his.

"Loose 'em!" Roper's voice came urgently in Saint John's ear.

"I'm working on it," he bit back. "Seb?"

"Still on our tail," came the reply.

"Great," Saint John muttered. Pushing forward on the cyclic, Angel Two nosed towards the dam. Laying hard on the right rudder pedal, the helicopter veered away at the last instant from the dam wall. The huey behind them began closing the distance between the two helicopters.

"They're gaining on us."

Machine gunfire ripped across the edge of the dam, where they'd been only moments before. Concrete chunks exploded, ricocheting off the tail boom of the helicopter. Cursing, Saint John lowered the collective, swinging low along the edge of the dam.

"Can't shake 'em," he grumbled. "There's just no way this bird can outrun them. Sweat dripped into his eyes and stung along the new gash on his ribs. Swerving hard left, he out-maneuvered another round of gunfire - barely.

"Incoming missile!" Seb yelled.

"Ah, hell," Saint John cursed, swinging the helicopter into a half-roll and implementing a half-loop back the way he'd come along the base of the dam.

"Where's it now?" Saint John panted, as he wrestled the helicopter level again.

"Any sign of them, Cait?" Hawke asked tersely, his hand heavy on the throttle. Airwolf screamed through the air in response.

"No sign," she answered contritely.

"Nothing on radar?"

"Nothing."

"Dammit," Hawke heaved a sigh of frustration. "Okay,

Cait what was their last radio transmission?"

"90 left to 175."

"They were headed for the dam?" he mused. "That sounds more like Saint John than Seb. Grief I hope so. Give me turbos, Cait."

"Turbos," she answered, slamming the lever into place. Airwolf rocketed across the sky, howling a challenge to the sky as she did so. Hawke swung her into a steep half-roll as he headed for the dam.

"There they are," Hawke commented in relief, spotting the white helicopter.

"Huey on their six. They've got off a missile, String," fingers flying she ran an I.D. "It's a heat seeker!" panic threaded her voice. "They'll never get out of the way in time!"

Diving, Airwolf hurtled in a suicidal sweep between the jet ranger and the missile, her downwash rocking the other aircraft as she ripped by. The missile whipped past the white jet ranger picking up Airwolf's hotter heat signature.

"We're between you and them Seb," Hawke radioed. "Get the heck out of here while we run interference."

Saint John's voice came across the radio. "Boy am I glad to see you little brother," his relief evident even as he wrestled the jet ranger back under control."

"Missile acquired," Caitlin cried, her voice tense as she clung to the engineering console. Hawke said nothing, Airwolf hurtling towards the water below in a screaming falcon's dive. "Hawke?" Cait cried, "Pull up! Pull up!"

The water rushed up into her view, fear clogging her throat, she braced for the inevitable crash.

Hauling back on the stick at the last minute, Hawke swung Airwolf upwards her frame shuddering with the strain, engines screaming in protest. Skimming feet above the surface of the water, Hawke deftly rolled Airwolf into an Immelman turn, the ascending half-loop snatching him out of missile range as it hit the water. He completed the turn, the half-roll taking him in a 180 degree turn.

The Sidewinder slammed into the water, the explosion as it hit spraying a plume into the air.

Sucking air into her lungs, and remembering to breath Caitlin clung to the console. She shook her head, the grayness from the g-forces disapaiting. Forcing her attention back to the monitor in front of her, she punched up radar.

"They've got another one off," she warned. "It's trying to acquire us."

"Pop a sunburst," he ordered and raise the IR suppression. Agily, he rolled Airwolf out of the missile's range as it swooped towards them.

"Didn't take it, Hawke," she informed, her voice tight.

Eyes widening, he responded, "It's a sniffer." Pulluing hard on the stick he toof Airwolf into a 360 degree aileron roll. "Gimme a Hellfire," he rasped, even as he pulled her out of the corkscrew-like maneuver.

Sweeping in behind the missile, Hawke aimed, his right thumb hitting the firing button. Targeting with deadly precision, the Hellfire exploded on contact with the other missile."

Rolling away from the explosion, Hawke came up behind the Huey even as it turned in the direction of Saint John's slower chopper.

"Chain guns," Hawke ordered, his voice as cold and icy as his eyes.

"You got 'em."

Letting loose a straffing burst, he fired on the Huey in front of him. The first rounds missed, the second took out the cockpit. The ensuing explosion shook Airwolf even as she climbed away from it.

"Hey, Sinj," Hawke called, hitting the transmit button on the panel even as he leveled out Airwolf's flight. "You okay?"

"Yeah, but next time I'm trading you birds," his brother retorted.

Hawke laughed. "We'll see. Hey, I thought Seb was flying that thing."

"He was, and he is," Saint John stated shortly, motioning for Seb to take the controls. "I'm beat."

"That's what happens when you get old," Hawke taunted, feeling the adrenaline ebb in his own body.

"Huh," Saint John snorted in disgust. "You best watch it little brother. You're not that far behind me."

Hawke laughed. "See you back at the cabin?"

"Sounds good," Saint John replied. Wearily, he leaned back in the co-pilot's seat.

"Hey, Seb?" Hawke radioed back.

"Yeah, String?" he replied.

"You be careful landing that bird. I don't need my trees trimmed."

"Yeah, yeah. Very funny."

"Seriously," Hawke rejoined. "Leave me some room when you land that thing. I'll get Marella to bring the kids, but I think I'd feel safer if the Lady stayed with us."

"Will do," he answered. "Over and out."


	12. Chapter 12

Seated at the dining room table, an excellent glass of Montcerhet in hand Roper let the conversation wash over him. It was so strange, he mused. To think of the only family he'd ever known gone and to find himself suddenly surrounded by a new one.

Anger ate at him for Nhi Huong's deception and the awkwardness of finding he had a whole new family he knew nothing about. How could she have done that? he wondered. It was like his whole life had been a lie.

Abruptly, a sense of being watched settled over him. Taking a swig of the wine in his glass, Roper looked up. Sapphire blue eyes the exact shade of his own met his.

Raising his glass in a silent toast, Hawke took a sip of his own wine. Frankly accessing, Hawke gazed back at him, his expression giving away nothing. An instant later, he had rejoined the conversation that ebbed and flowed around him as if the moment had never happened.

Roper sighed.

Dinner over, Michael and Marella chatted by the massive stone fireplace, the warmth of the flames at their backs. Saint John sprawled on the sofa across from them, Amelia draped over his lap asleep. Idly he caressed her reddish-brown hair as they discussed the morning's plans. Carrying a cup of coffee, Caitlin joined the others by the fireplace.

Roper shifted restlessly. The easy familiarity of the others threatened to choke him, and resentment flared. He didn't fit here, and he didn't fit in his old life, he thought angrily.

Unable to stand it any longer, he strode for the door. Stepping outside, it clicked shut with a sound of finality as he closed it behind him. Glad for the escape, he drew a shuddering breath, raking a slim hand through his already rumpled hair. Morosely, he leaned on the porch rail staring out at the lake.

On the cool evening winds, the notes of a cello expertly played teased his ear. Mournful and sad they matched his mood, and unwillingly he found himself drawn down the path towards the sound.

Thirty feet from the dock, he froze torn between listening, and a sudden desire to return to the cabin.

The music paused, and Hawke looked up. "You might as well come the rest of the way if you're going to listen," he said sardonically. "It's not like I don't know you're there."

Irritated, the younger man shrugged. Carefully, he picked his way down the path, the shadowy moonlight illuminating it and glittering off the darkened lake. Reaching the edge of the dock, he flung himself down on an ancient stump.

Finishing the piece, String allowed the notes to fade in the night as he rested his bow on his leg. "Didn't expect you out here," he commented at long last, the silence wearing at even him.

"I didn't expect to find me out here either," the other remarked wryly.

"Worried about tomorrow?"

"No," he replied. "Well, maybe."

Thoughtfully Hawke picked up the bow again, fingering it. After a moment he chose a Russian song, one he'd heard long ago on one of his first missions with Airwolf. Somehow tonight it seemed appropriate. Sliding through the opening notes, he thought back to Tania, the Russian agent's daughter he'd gotten out - and how angry she'd been. Perhaps, she and Roper weren't so different after all.

"I could go," he offered.

"No," Roper replied, strangely comforted by the offer. "I said I'll do it. I'll do it."

"Your choice," Hawke replied. He was quiet for a long minute before finally speaking. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm worried too. Stroking across the strings, the melody echoed on the night air, moody and melancholy.

"Not really," Roper replied his tone wry, as he looked at String.

Finishing the song, Hawke hesitated, not knowing what else to say to his son. His son? How strange was that - he had a full grown son he didn't even know.

Sighing, his shoulders slumped. He picked up the camp stool and rose, hefting the cello and bow in his other hand. "Got an early call tomorrow," he said. "Don't stay out to late," with that he strode silently off the dock and up the path towards the cabin.

Roper stared after him in irritation, hesitating. A sudden breeze off the lake rifled his hair, causing him to shiver. The temperature was dropping, he mused idly. Rubbing his hands on well-worn jeans, he rose. The cry of a wolf on the hunt echoed faintly in the distance. Tomorrow, that'd be them he thought with disquiet - he only hoped they'd be the wolf and not the prey.

Wearily, Hawke climbed the stairs to the upstairs loft, Michael and Marella had left at long last, Saint John was long asleep in the downstairs guest bedroom recovering from the events of the day. Roper had drawn the sofa. Seb slept in the kids room.

Stepping into the master bedroom, blue eyes lit on the lithe figure of his wife as she prepared for bed. "Hey, you," she said looking up with a smile. "I'd about decided I was going to have to send out a search party to find you."

Hawke shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry, time got away."

"Um-hm," Cait murmured, not buying it for a minute. "You missed saying good-bye to Michael and Marella."

"I'll make it up to them next time," he murmured, sliding his arms around her from behind.

"You will?" she replied archly, watching him in the mirror.

"Um-hm," he whispered, his lips nuzzling her neck. "Promise," his warm breath tickled her ear damply as he pulled her closer.

Caitlin sighed in contentment, leaning back against him. "Well, I guess I could let you off the hook this once. If you promise."

"Scout's honor," String whispered, tightening his arms around her and drawing her towards the bed.

"Mm-mm," she replied, setting the brush down. "In that case…"

Cuddling afterwards, her head comfortably resting on his shoulder, fingers idly tracing the planes of his stomach as he stroked her hair a sudden, errant thought teased her mind.

Blue-green eyes narrowed as she levered herself up on one elbow. "Hawke," she demanded her tone serious.

"Mmmh?" one blue eye cracked open looking at her. The stroking stopped.

"Were you ever actually a boy scout?"

Laughter flashed in the blue eyes. "No," he chuckled, amused at her indignant expression.

"Oh-hh, you!" she exclaimed, punching him in the shoulder. "I should have known!" she grumbled.

"But Cait," he protested grinning, his hand sliding to the back of her neck as he rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

"Yeah?" she questioned warily, catching the wicked glint in his eyes.

"I always come prepared."

Groaning at his bad pun, her fingers tangled in his hair even as his lips came down on hers.

Dreaming, Caitlin startled awake disoriented. Laying on her side, heart pounding she blinked at the flickering glow of the logs in the hearth trying to place what had woken her.

Beside her, she felt Hawke flinch suddenly, the movement abrupt and awkward

She swooped through the skies like an eagle attacking her prey. The wind rushed past her, echoing her keening cry. Twisting through the mountains in the loaming light. Shadowy, they leaned in, edging at her wings.

Fear pounded in his throat. The undeniable sense of the prey before it fell. Light crashed before him, illuminating the valley below.

Sprawled beneath him, broken and in flames lay another bird - Airwolf! He thought, but not - he was flying her. Confusion pulled at his mind.

The wind clawed at her, at him, threatening to pull her from his grasp, fling him to the canyon below. Death, he sensed it, felt it with every fiber of his being. His, the lady's. The flame licked wreckage held it, yet it called him closer. She swooped low, her downwash fanning the flames.

He saw the body, knew it before he could distinguish. Blond, brown hair matted with blood, skin ashen in the flickering light.

"No," he whispered. "No!" the cry wrenched from him, becoming almost a scream. "No, please no, not this time!" the sob clawed at his throat, choking him, pulling him under.

Stretching, she reached for him, even as his yell woke him, clawing and gasping for air, trembling in her arms. "Shh-hh," she whispered, soothing, stroking, careful not to startle him. Cool hands gentle on hot, fevered skin. "It's okay, breath,. It's just a dream, just a dream."

Wide blue eyes focused on her, dilated beyond belief, chest heaving as he sat. "Cait?" he asked, the tone uncertain, confused.

"Shh-hh, hush. It's okay, baby," she murmured rubbing his shoulder, his arm. Clarity surfaced in the blue eyes slowly, the confusion ebbing away. Drawing an uneven breath, he subsided. Hawke collapsed on the pillow his chest still heaving. Struggling he drew a long, halting breath, held it, let it go. Tried again.

Nestling against him, she pressed close. Slender fingers stroked his hair, silky beneath her touch. Slowly, she felt the tension ease, the dream dissipate and at last he slept, the breaths long and slow.

Sighing, he shifted position draping one arm loosely over her waist. Sliding her arm around him, she heard him breath a drowsy, contented sigh. His breath warm against her shoulder, he slept cradled against her peacefully.

Wearily, she exhaled, wishing she could do the same. It'd been a long time since he'd had the dreams, she'd hoped they were gone for good. To know they were back, did nothing to ease the looming sense of disaster that had been hanging over her for days.

Tossing restlessly on the downstairs sofa, Roper snatched instantly awake at the muffled yell, his hand reaching for the Beretta under his pillow. Heart pounding, he waited in the silence.

When the yell came this time, he was ready. Slinging the throw off his legs, he rounded the stairs gun drawn and in bare feet as he ran silently up the stairs. Cautiously he checked the kids room, finding nothing out of place he stalked towards the master bedroom. Pausing outside the door, he hesitated back against the wall, gun eye level as his ears strained for some hint. None came, he could hear the faint crackle of the fire - nothing more.

Dropping down he swung into the room, gun safety off, finger on the trigger. Anxiously he panned the room, searching for danger.

He heard Caitlin's gasp before he saw her. Blue-green eyes widened and narrowed at the form in the doorway. "What are you doing?" she hissed, detangling herself from Hawke and reaching for her robe.

Sensing no threat, Roper clicked the safety back on his gun before dropping his arm to his side. "I heard a yell," he said defensively. "I was sure it came from up here."

Hawke muttered and stirred restlessly. Eyeing him, Caitlin circled the end of the bed, grabbing Roper's arm and hustling him out the door and down the stairs. "Shh-hh," she whispered her tone angry, "You'll wake Hawke."

Practically dragging him down the stairs, Cait pulled him outside, shutting the door carefully behind her. "Now," she demanded, rounding on him. "Spill - what was that up there all about? You realize you could've gotten yourself killed?"

"I… hey, wait a minute," he flared. "I'm the good guy here."

"Really," Cait retorted, her tone rife with suspicion. "Then what were you doing standing in my bedroom with a gun pointed at me?"

Finding himself abruptly on the defensive, he threw his hands in the air. "Me?" he snarled. "What was all the yelling about? I thought somebody had gotten in the house."

"The yelling…" Cait's voice dropped off, suddenly chagrined. "Uh," she sighed raking a hand through her tousled hair. "I guess I owe you an apology."

"Apology, hell," he threw back. "What I'd like is an explanation. What the heck was that all about?"

"Just a dream," she murmured. "Just a dream." He thought he caught her mutter, "I hope."

"Heck of a dream."

"Yeah, well. When Hawke has them, he does a bang up job," she retorted.

"I can see that," he said catching her trembling hand in his own. "Want to tell me what this is all about?"

Gingerly, she gestured to the porch swing. He seated himself, drawing her down with him. She didn't speak for a long moment trying to decide where to begin.

"Well," he prompted.

Heaving a deep breath, she began. "He's always had the dreams - at least as long as I've known him. With the life he's had, I guess the surprise is that he doesn't have them all the time. Dom used to say he came back from 'Nam with them. Would wake him up, fit to screaming the house down."

Sharp blue eyes winced. "Damn. Some sort of post traumatic stress?"

Cait nodded. "As time passed it got better, not great but better. He took his brother's disappearance in Vietnam to heart. Went to work for the Firm - Archangel, started his own personal crusade to get Saint John back, stole Airwolf."

"He stole what?!" Roper exclaimed. "You're kidding me."

"No," Cait replied with a faint grin. "I'm not kidding."

"But he and Michael…" he began.

"Well, a lot has happened. Just understand that while she's solved a lot of problems, she draws her fair share of trouble and then some, too."

"I guess I can see that," Roper conceded quietly.

"Hawke has more than his fair share of ghosts," Cait sighed. " 'Nam brought some, and the Lady's brought probably just as many and they have a funny way of resurrecting themselves when you least expect it. Tonight was one of those times," she shivered in the cool night air.

Roper rubbed his hand up and down her arm trying to warm her up. "You want to go in?" he asked concern lighting his eyes.

She shook her head. "No, I just want you to understand. You being here has woken some very old ghosts and a few new ones."

He nodded, not speaking.

She paused for a long moment as if debating whether to say more. At last she spoke, her voice faint. "He's not the only one having dreams this time, String. I don't know what the two of you have stirred up, but it isn't good."

Startled, he looked at her, a faint frown marring his forehead. Cait wanted to cry. He looked more like Hawke in that moment than Nicky did.

"Be careful," she whispered. "Be careful and you bring him back to me safe."

Swallowing, he nodded feeling like he was being sucked in by forces he couldn't even begin to understand.

"Promise," she demanded, clutching his arm.

"I promise," he whispered, icy blue eyes meeting hers. "I promise."

Dawn broke clear and cold over the lake. The orange glow of the sun climbing in the sky, even as fingers of pink and orange warmed and colored the mountains. Wrapped in a quilt, Caitlin sat on the bench by the dock a cup of coffee in her hand, Roper hunched by her side when Hawke walked out.

Shoving the sleeves of his sweater up his forearms, he paused at the cozy picture they made, before trailing over.

"Hey, you," he greeted her, his eyes crinkling as he kissed her good morning.

"Hey, yourself," she responded, tasting the mintiness of his toothpaste as she returned his kiss.

"That coffee?" he asked, his voice hopeful as his hand hovered near her mug.

"Yeah," Caitlin gave up her mug.

Sipping the hot liquid, Hawke greeted the dark-haired pilot. "You're up early."

"Couldn't sleep," the other replied, earning a baleful glare from Caitlin as her head snapped up.

Wondering what he'd missed, Hawke's eyes narrowed at them suspiciously.

Roper and Caitlin scooted down, making room for him on the bench. Pensively, Hawke joined them. He handed the coffee back to Cait. "You ready to put the game into play?" he asked.

"Already done," Roper replied.

Eyes widening, String's gaze flew to Roper's face before the mask slammed down implacably. "What do you mean?"

Roper got up and paced, feeling the heat of Hawke's glare on his back. "I've already spoke with Michael. Things are as ready on his end as they're ever gonna be."

"Oh?" Hawke replied, his tone carefully neutral.

"He's got a team on standby to do waterfall surveillance when we make the drop. Seb and I will go back to Red Star and go from here. You and Cait can follow in Airwolf, provide back-up."

"Really," Hawke said, his tone frosty as he gained his feet. "I appreciate you letting me in on your plans."

Roper's icy glare met Hawke's. "You weren't up. The call came. I handled it," he replied, his own voice hard.

"So I hear," Hawke bit out. "You could have woke me," he pointed out.

"I could've," the other allowed. "I didn't."

Angrily Hawke turned on his heel, raking his hands through his hair before shoving them in his jeans pockets. The attempt to control his temper was obvious. A muscle ticked in his lean jaw.

"Alright, fine," he said, coming to a decision. Heaving a harsh breath he asked, " When's the drop?"

"Two hours."

Hawke's eyebrows rose. "Where?" he asked tersely.

"They'll contact us."

Hawke cursed. "You do know, it'll take you a good portion of that just to get to Red Star?"

"Yeah," Roper replied soberly. "That's why Seb is getting the 'copter ready to go now."

Hawke sighed. "Then I guess I'd better go get the Lady up."

Roper nodded, patting Cait's shoulder as he turned to go. His steps clattered on the wood planking as he headed off.

"Roper!" Hawke called.

The younger man turned inquisitively, eyeing Hawke who stood with head bowed, thumbs in worn jeans pockets.

"Yeah?"

Hawke raised his head, the icy stare deadly as he met Roper's. "Next time, keep me in the loop."

Roper nodded.


	13. Chapter 13

Minutes later Roper and Seb took off in Angel Two. Seb piloting and Roper an avid, if inexperienced co-pilot. Grudgingly Seb had to admit - the kid was a natural pilot. For a guy who'd flown a helicopter once, he was catching on quick.

"Steady her out, easy," Seb muttered feeling the helicopter yaw sideways, his gut clenching with the movement. It was kinda like riding with String in Airwolf, he acknowledged - just without the finesse. Both left you praying for mercy.

Okay, he admitted he didn't have the nerves of steel String had developed flying combat and backing far too many beginners, but even he had to admit once Roper had balanced out the difference between a jet fighter and a helo he'd be a heck of a pilot. And he could certainly see Hawke's point about getting his nephew helicopter capable. The way things were around here, you never knew when you might need it.

Red Star loomed in the distance, parched white rocks hard and foreboding. Never had it looked so good, Seb thought feeling a trickle of sweat slide along his hairline.

"Angel Two, Angel Two this is red Star, do you read?"

Seb reached for the radio switch. "Red Star this is Angel Two, go ahead."

"We have a rendezvous, do you read?"

"Loud and clear," Seb replied, mic in hand. Looking at Roper, he nodded. "Go ahead."

Grunting, Hawke hefted another Maverick into the missile bay. Re-arming the Lady was work and he figured the way things were going, she was definitely going to need all her teeth to get out of this one.

"He wasn't trying to cut you out, Hawke," Caitlin's voice washed over him, the Texas twang more pronounced - a sure sign she was upset.

"Didn't say he was," he replied curtly.

"He's doing the best he can."

Hawke didn't reply, slamming the missile bay door shut. Silent, he moved on to the wing guns, checking the rounds.

Caitlin glared at him, hands on her hips.

He climbed down and reached into the cockpit, closing the wingtip sponsors.

"Stringfellow Hawke are you listening to me?"

"How could I not, Cait?" he flared. "Yes, I know Roper did what he thought best. Do I wish it'd been handled differently - sure. Can I change it? No, no I can't. All I can do is play the hand we've been dealt and pray that's enough."

"You're not mad?"

"No," he sighed, rubbing at a grease mark with a rag. "Just worried. What if I can't pull our butts out of the fire this time?" He raised doubt-filled eyes to hers.

"You will," she said, taking the two steps over to where he stood. "We've faced bigger things than this."

"And if I can't?" he said searching her face.

She placed two fingers on his lips silencing him. "We will. Stop worrying."

He looked down at her, his expression sober. At last, he shook his head giving her a rueful smile even as he pulled her in for a quick hug. They stood that way for a long minute, her head nestled under his chin.

The bang of the front door echoed in the morning air. Letting his arm slide around her waist, Hawke took a step back.

"Kids are up?" she asked looking up at him.

"Yep," Hawke replied laconically.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Amelia's exuberant voice called, footsteps pounding up the path. Nicky loped a step behind her.

"Hey, Sweetie!" he exclaimed grabbing her as she threw herself into his arms and hefting her high. "What are you doing up?"

"We came to see you off," Nicky said solemnly, his eyes perceptive beyond his years.

Questioning Hawke's gaze flew to Caitlin. She shrugged in response, shaking her head.

The door slammed again as Saint John hurried out onto the porch. Hawke noticed he was moving pretty good, albeit a bit stiffly as he hurried up the path towards them. He raised an eyebrow at Caitlin.

She grinned back. "Couldn't ask for a better babysitter," she quipped.

"Better not let him hear you say that," Hawke retorted his lips quirking.

Gaining the rise, and spotting Hawke and Caitlin he slowed, pressing a hand to his aching side. "Thought I told you two to stay with me," he grumbled.

"Sorry, Uncle Sinj," the kids replied in unison. They didn't look particularly repentant.

"They were about to go, we couldn't wait," Nicky added.

Saint John looked at String. He shrugged and nodded agreement to the statement.

Turning back to the kids, Saint John reached for their shoulders to herd them back towards the cabin. "Alright," he said, "Then you've said your goodbyes. Come on. Let's get you back to the cabin before your breakfast gets cold." Obediently, they trudged back towards the cabin below.

"Take care, Cait and keep him out of too much trouble," Saint John tossed back over his shoulder as he followed Nicky and Amelia back down the path.

"Hey, Uncle Sinj," Amelia's lilting voice drifted back clearly to them. "How does cereal get cold? It's already cold."

Hawke stifled a laugh.

Cait merely rolled her eyes.

Sliding into his flight suit, Hawke was already reaching for his helmet when a faint sound tickled his hearing. Spinning towards it, he reached for his gun.

Nicky stood at the head of the path.

Subtly he slid the gun back into his belt. "Hang on a minute, Cait," he yelled shutting the cockpit door. Ducking the rotor blades, Hawke loped over to where his son stood.

"What's wrong, Nick?" he asked leaning down next to the boy, to be heard over Airwolf's trilling rotors.

The boy shook his head mutely in response, reddish brown hair falling in a hank over his eyes. Instead, he threw his arms around his father's neck - the strength in his hug almost choking. Stumbling, Hawke knelt down next to his son, gently disengaging the clinging arms.

Dark blue eyes searched the boy's face. "Nicky, what's wrong?" he asked, holding the boy by his shoulders.

Tears glistened in the boy's eyes, the same shade as the lake below. "Promise," he demanded.

"Promise what?" Hawke asked confused.

"Promise you'll come back."

Hawke started to grin.

The look the boy shot him, had it dying on his lips.

"Son," he said, tightening his grip on his shoulders, before pulling him close. "I always come back, you know that."

"Say it," the boy demanded, his voice tear muffled against String's flight suit.

He stroked the boy's hair silky beneath his fingers and held him close for a minute. "I promise, son." After a minute, he reluctantly let him go, patting him on the back. "Now you'd better get back down there before your Uncle Saint John starts hunting for you."

The boy nodded and trudged down the path reluctantly, pausing at the foot of the path for one last look.

Crouching, Hawke ran back to Airwolf. He swung up, the door whooshing shut behind him as he reached for his helmet.

"What was that all about?" Caitlin asked curiously.

String glanced over at his shoulder at her. "I wish I knew," he replied unease knotting in his gut even as he said the words. "I wish I knew."

Reaching for the collective, Airwolf climbed into the sky, the downwash from her rotors flattening the grass around them and snatching leaves off the trees. Hovering, Hawke took one last glance at the cabin before turning her on her own axis. "Turbos, Cait," he called. "We have a helicopter to catch."


	14. Chapter 14

Landing the helicopter with a gentle flare Roper looked over at Seb. "You know I'd feel a lot better about how I was doing if you didn't look like you were praying every time I landed."

Blond-haired Seb gave an abashed grin. "Nothing personal. I just like me the way I am - in one piece."

"Gee, thanks."

"Not a problem," Seb grinned. He reached into the front storage compartment and pulled out String's Walther PPK. Sliding it into his jacket pocket, he asked, "Ready to meet our buyers?"

Checking the magazine in his own Beretta, Roper nodded. "Let's go make a deal."

Two men stepped out from the hanger ahead of them, both wearing gray suits. Besides them, two more men stepped out - carrying automatic rifles.

"Great," Seb muttered sarcastically, eyeing the guns.

If Roper shared his unease, he showed no sign of it. "Gentlemen!" he called out, "I think we have business to discuss." The wind whipped across the tarmac, rifling the short coffee-colored strands of his hair as he greeted them. Blinking against the wind-borne sand he squinted. "Shall we get started?"

"Did you bring the data?" the older heavier-set man demanded his gun and his scowl meaning business.

In response, roper hefted the case in his hand, before laying it carefully down on the car trunk in front of him. With a flourish, he snapped it open. Technical data printouts and diagrams fluttered in the wind, even as the flash drive skittered across the pages.

Eagerly, the swarthy man reached for the drive.

"Unh, unh, unh," Roper admonished snapping the case shut. "Where's the money?"

The heavy-set man motioned behind him. "Pay the man Assad."

The click of rifles aiming, sent Roper lunging for Seb driving him to the ground. Bullets slammed into the concrete next to him, even as he raised his gun firing back.

In the air, a keening howl arose, the wind whipping madly about them. Assad and his pal staggered back, choosing to fire their automatic rifles at the hovering black merchant of death, rather than at the two men crouched on the ground in front of them.

"Let's go!" Seb yelled, grabbing Roper by the collar and dragging him to his feet. Ducking the hail of gunfire, the two men ran for the hanger and cover.

Chewing up the ground in front of her with 30mm chain guns, Airwolf swooped through. Swerving, she banked for another pass.

"Hawke, we've got a Hughes 500 taking off. Make that two," Caitlin's voice cut in through the helmet, insistent. "They're armed for bear."

"Where?" he demanded.

"Coming in from the north. Bearing 230."

Abruptly, he turned the helicopter on her own axis, calling for a sidewinder as he did so.

Climbing into the air, the second Hughes rained machine gun fire at them, thudding into the Lady's armor-plated hide even as Hawke banked hard left to avoid incoming missile fire from the first helicopter.

"On your six," Caitlin warned.

Snatching back the stick with more power than finesse, String forced Airwolf into a climb that threatened to stall her engines before finally leveling out. Once there he threw her into a 360 degree Aileron roll spiraling like a falcon for prey as he dove at the heavily armed Hughes. Dropping the visor, he aimed a sidewinder at it. Flames from the explosion rolled out reaching for Airwolf even as she dodged flying debris and the heat roiled and curled around her.

Running infrared on the ground Cait sucked in a worried breath. "Hawke," she cried, "They're pinned down."

"Any way out?" he questioned tersely.

"Not that I see."

Hawke rolled the helicopter into a steep right bank, just barely avoiding a shot from the incoming Hughes. "Gimme cannons, Cait."

"Done," she replied hitting the button.

Looping up and over, Hawke swung Airwolf in behind the other chopper. Levering his thumb on the trigger he fired, slamming the 40 mm cannons into the tail boom and fuselage of the Hughes. Smoking it crashed into the ground below, flames licking at it.

Swinging back to the edge of the tarmac nearest the hanger, Hawke flared Airwolf's nose extending the landing gear. "Stay here, Cait," he ordered. "Run surveillance, and keep monitoring audio. We may need you for extraction, at the very least I'll probably need you to cover me.

"Will do," she said bringing the requested systems online.

Dropping out of the helicopter, .45 drawn Hawke headed for the hanger in a crouching run. Sidling up to the door, he slammed a booted heel into it, kicking it open. Pausing he ducked back, before swinging into the opening gun in hand.

Shots rang out in the back of the building. Running, Hawke headed for cover, placing helicopters and equipment between him and a clear shot as he made his way to the back. Squatting, he dropped down behind a crate hoping to get a view of his brother and Roper.

"Drop it!" a voice rang out. Adrenaline surging through his veins, Hawke froze with his heart in his throat before logic kicked in and he realized it was directed at the other two. Not great, but at least he was still in the game.

The swarthy man from earlier stood with gun aimed at Seb and Roper's chests. Assad slipped in from behind, shoving his gun up against Seb's head. Instinctively he raised his hands, the Walther clattering to the ground by his feet.

"Now!" The command came again. "Or I kill your friend where he stands!"

Roper cast an angry glare at Assad before tossing the Beretta to the floor in front of him.

"Good, good," the other man chuckled. "Perhaps I won't have to kill you just yet."

Roper heaved in a heavy breath.

"Come on, come on," Assad snarled. "I haven't got all day."

Roper and Seb turned, lacing their fingers behind their heads as they did so. Gesturing with the gun, Assad directed them towards the door and the tarmac outside.

Stealthily Hawke closed the distance between them, dogging the swarthy man's steps in front of him.

Ahead, Assad stepped through the door, turning his head slightly as he did so. Immediately in his peripheral vision he caught Hawke's movement. "Santos!" he yelled, "Look out!"

Caught off guard, Hawke lunged towards towards the crates. He hit the deck hard, sliding as he did so. A bullet slammed into the floor beside him. Rolling to his back he fired back, pulling the trigger squeezing off a round. His shot went wide.

Beside him, a bullet tore into the crate spraying splinters everywhere. A second shot caught him in the arm. A cry ripping from his throat, String clamped his other hand over the wound, blood oozing between his fingers. Fighting a rolling wave of nausea, he crawled deeper behind the crates and hopefully out of range.

Struggling to his knees, he hunkered down next to the crate propping his gun hand against the shattered wood. Several more shots pounded into the wood as he heard running footsteps and yelling from the doorway.

Seeing his shot, he took it, nailing Santos. In cold satisfaction he watched the man fall even as he got to his feet to go after the others. Making a break for it, he ran after Assad and the men with him. Bending, he snatched up his Walther and Roper's Beretta shoving them into his belt. Clamping his injured arm against his side, he charged after them, each jolt bringing a new throb of agony from his already screaming arm.

Catching up, he levered off another couple rounds at Assad. Seb making the most of the distraction, turned and slammed a fist into Assad's face. Blocking the other's punch, he shoved Roper ahead of him towards safety.

Hawke tried for one last shot. To his chagrin, he found the chamber of the .45 empty. Cursing he slammed the empty clip out, fumbling one handed for a new clip. Shoving it home, he ran after them.

Flinging the hanger door open, he spotted Airwolf hovering just feet off the tarmac as Seb and Roper raced towards her. Assad was drawing down on them even as he watched.

"Seb!" he yelled, aiming his own gun even as he knew it was too late. Roper turned as he ran and spotted Assad. Putting on a burst of speed, he lunged for Seb, slamming him to the asphalt even as two shots rang out.

Stunned, Hawke just stood there. Seb was down, Roper on top of him and Assad lay bleeding on the ground in front of him. Airwolf hovered only yards away her downwash sweeping the tarmac, the rotors making a ghostly droning noise.

Assad stirred, rolling to his side surreptitiously reaching for his gun. Oblivious and in shock, Hawke staggered towards the two downed men. Caitlin still in Airwolf watched in horror as he raised the gun, Hawke in his line of fire.

Pulling up on the collective and pushing the cyclic forward she swung the helicopter around, even as she screamed Hawke's name. Catching the movement in his peripheral vision String turned automatically, emptying the clip of the .45 in Assad's direction. In the same instant, the Lady completed her swing and the chain guns blazed, chewing up the pavement and slamming into Assad and the hanger. Cringing Hawke hit the ground, his arms instinctively covering his head.

Landing gear out now, Airwolf settled to earth heavily, her rotors making a trilling sound. Rolling to his knees painfully, sense slammed into Hawke and he pushed up with his good arm, gaining his feet.

Running he made for Seb and Roper. Getting there he saw the pool of blood beneath them, and nearly sobbed aloud. Falling to the ground beside them, he dropped his gun from suddenly nerveless finger, reaching to check for a pulse.

Even as he reached, Seb groaned, pushing at Roper's body on top of his. His vision swam and his head pounded. He fought dry heaves as nausea rolled over him with the pain.

Finding he could breath again after all, Hawke drug in a breath to his oxygen starved lungs as he carefully rolled Roper's body off Seb. Rolling him, Hawke knew immediately which one had taken the bullet. Blood seeped from a wound in his chest and his face was ashen beneath new scrapes. His eyes fluttered open even as Hawke touched him.

"Ungh-hh," he groaned, doubling up in pain, his breathing immediately labored as he regained consciousness.

Caitlin slid to a halt beside Hawke, the first aid kit from Airwolf in her hands. Hands frantic, she tore into it ripping open gauze and handing it to Hawke.

"Did we get them?" Roper whispered, his eyes on Hawke, the pupils huge and dilated with pain.

"Yeah," Hawke muttered, feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest. "We got them."

"Good," he replied his voice thready, as he fought for consciousness. "Seb okay?"

Hawke glanced Seb groaning on the ground and hoped so. "Yeah, he'll be okay."

Roper nodded just barely. "Sorry about the trouble I brought you," he whispered, hanging on tight to String's arm.

"No, trouble…" Hawke struggled to answer past the lump in his throat. Even as he got the words out, Roper's eyes rolled back and he went limp in his arms.

Sorrow choking her, Cait got to her feet to crouch over by Seb, whispering soft words of encouragement as he huddled on his knees, his head in his hands.

In anguish, Hawke grabbed the younger man's shirt pulling him towards him, his head lolling. "God, no!" he sobbed. "Please don't let him die, don't let my son die!" Crying he bowed his head over the younger man, his hand desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood, sticky and red through his fingers. "Lord, please no," he cried, the words a desperate prayer on his lips.

Caitlin bit her lip, bitter tears sliding down her own cheeks.

Abruptly, Roper drew a hug shuddering breath snapping back to consciousness. Dark blue eyes so like String's flared open. Pain-filled but clear. Sure that this was it, String watched in astonishment as his breathing evened out.

"Oh God, thank you," he whispered nearly collapsing in relief. Hope rushed through him and threatened to overwhelm him. Shaking hands grabbed the gauze, pressing it against the bullet wound, expertly taping it in place. "You hanging in , okay?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

Roper nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes on Hawke.

"This is gonna hurt," Hawke warned apologetically.

"I know," Roper returned wryly. "Get on with it."

Nodding, Hawke swallowed. Kneeling he drug him up by his shirtfront, razors of pain running up his own arm. Carefully he crouched and put him over his shoulder.

By the time he made it staggering to Airwolf, both men were breathing hard and Roper's wound had opened up and started to bleed again. Feeling a little light-headed himself, String worked to get Roper's wound packed again.

Weakly he grabbed String's arm. "Where's Seb?" he asked worriedly. Hawke shook his head, focusing on re-bandaging Roper's wound.

"String," Roper tried again. "You've got to help Cait. We need to get out of here.

"Yeah," Hawke conceded wearily. "You're right." Pushing off with his good arm, he gained his feet. Unsteady steps took him over to where Caitlin struggled to help Seb to his feet. "You okay, bro?" he said, sliding his good arm under his shoulder.

Woozily, Seb tried to get his feet under him. "String?" he asked, trying to focus blearily on Hawke.

Cait wrapped an arm around his waist dragging him upright. "I think he's got a concussion," she said meeting Hawke's eyes worriedly over Seb's bowed head. "He's awfully out of it."

"Great," Hawke muttered. "At the rate we're going, there's going to be no one left to fly Airwolf out of here."

Half-dragging Seb, they made their way slowly towards where Airwolf crouched on the tarmac.

"You'll have to pull him up," Hawke gasped leaning heavily against the helicopter's ebony skin.

Concerned, Cait looked at string doing a double take at the pallor under his tan. Anxious eyes traveled over him, lighting at the bloody sleeve of his flight suit. "You're hit aren't you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I'm fine," Hawke denied. We need to get Seb aboard and Roper to a hospital."

"You are hit," she said with certainty, reaching for him.

"Not now, Cait," he said shrugging her off. "I said I was fine. We've got to go. They need help you and I can't give them."

Knowing he was right, she reached down under Seb's arms and pulled as Hawke lifted his lower body into the helicopter. Obviously faltering now, he struggled in after him. Painfully, he crawled over to check on Roper who was by now trailing in and out of consciousness.

"Go ahead and take the stick," he told Caitlin.

Startled hazel eyes stared at him. "You want me to fly?" she asked in surprise.

"I'll run engineering," Hawke assured her. "Just make sure whatever you do, you take out that hanger. We can't risk another copy of the electro-thermal chemical data showing up and them selling it to the highest bidder. I for sure don't want to do this again."

Cait nodded, scrambling into the pilot's seat. Glancing back over her shoulder, she called out, "Ready?" to Hawke, even as her left hand rested on the collective.

"Ready," he replied the voice steady, if a little weak.

The ghostly drone increased as the Lady rose into the air, rotors biting and lifting. Nose down she swung towards the hanger.

"Give me a hellfire."

"Hellfire," Hawke punched it up. The missile tore away, slamming into the side of the hanger ahead. Flaming debris rained down, slamming to the ground below.

"Copperhead."

"You got it."

Firing twin shots, Cait aimed at what had been left of the burning building. Dual explosions ripped through it, igniting the last of the hanger. Airwolf swung over it, her rotors swirling the smoke in giant curls beneath her.

"Turbos," she called.

Reaching for the lever, Hawke hesitated hoping he wasn't signing Roper's death warrant. Would his already damaged body be able to take the trauma of the additional G-forces? If they didn't get help fast though, he'd bleed out though. Screwed if you do, screwed if you don't, he thought grimly.

"Hawke?" Cait questioned when he didn't respond.

"Turbos," he said shoving the lever into place. "God help him," he prayed, hoping he'd made the right decision. Airwolf bolted across the sky in the direction of Red Star.

Reaching overhead, Caitlin punched in a series of buttons connecting her to Red Star. Momentarily, the communications alarm sounded. Hitting a switch, she responded. "Michael?"

"Good to hear from you, Cait," he replied. "I trust all went well."

"More or less," she answered wearily. "We got the data, and the threat has been eliminated."

"I see," Michael responded, stroking his mustache. "Everything else okay?"

"I need a doctor on standby," Hawke cut in. "Ropers been hit. You might want to pull up his blood type - he may need a transfusion, he's lost a lot of blood."

"On it," Michael responded immediately, reaching to cut off communication.

"Michael?" Hawke stopped him.

"Yes?" Michael answered, gesturing to Marella in the background.

"Get a couple more beds ready, while you're at it."

"Wha - ?" he began.

Hawke punched the button.


	15. Chapter 15

Airwolf settled to the helipad of the Firm clinic gently. Her rotors already slowing as techs charged out with a stretcher to take Roper off. Tersely worded commands were bitten out as he was bundled aboard and they raced off for the elevator.

A second group of orderlies came and gently carried Seb down as well. Blessedly, he had passed out, which considering the shape he'd been in Caitlin figured might be a good thing where he was concerned. Evidently he must take after his mother's side of the family, she mused, he sure didn't have Hawke's hard head.

Hawke was the last one out. A wheelchair had been brought to carry him inside. With typical stubbornness, he refused it, claiming it was his arm that was shot, not his leg. An argument that would have been more convincing if halfway across the roof his legs hadn't crumpled beneath him and he'd nearly hit the ground. The quick actions of the orderlies the only thing saving him from a hard fall.

Marella had come to check on her after that. Caitlin had waved her off, apologizing for leaving Angel Two at the burning airfield. The barest of concern passed over Marella's face before she'd called for a clean up crew to take care of it.

Alone now, Cait headed through the hallways towards the portion of the building that held the top-notch clinic. Logically, she knew the guys were in the best hands possible, but it didn't stop the frisson of fear that blossomed in her stomach. Impatient steps carried her up the stairs two at a time as she headed for the elevators.

The doors were closing as she got there. Cursing, Cait slid to a halt, slamming her palm on the button on the wall. Even as she did so, a well-formed tan hand shot out and caught the doors.

They opened.

"Going my way, Mrs. Hawke?" Michael greeted her with a grin, holding the door ajar with the silver-handled cane.

Relief surged through her as she joined him. "Any word?" she asked, her voice anxious.

Michael reached over to draw her against his side. "Marella's already up there," he said giving her a comforting squeeze. "Roper's in surgery - but I guess you expected that."

Taking a shaky breath, she nodded jerkily.

"The doctors are with Seb now. I'm sure we'll know something soon."

"And Hawke?"

Michael shrugged. "I haven't heard. Knowing him, probably fighting them tooth and nail."

Tiredly Caitlin nodded her head, knowing Michael was probably right.

"Hey, it'll be okay," he assured her. "If Hawke wasn't putting up a fight, then we'd have reason to worry. Your guys are tough."

"I know," she breathed. "I just thought we'd lost Roper there for a while."

He patted her shoulder again before releasing her. Silently, the doors slid open.

Efficient nurses bustled past, intent on their duties, paying them little mind as they did so. Anxiously Caitlin cast a glance at the empty desk.

"Have a set, Cait," Michael said. "I'll go see if I can find a doctor and find out where things stand."

Feeling numb, she sank into a nearby seat to wait.

Time passed at a crawl. The shift changed and nurses and orderlies ebbed and flowed around her like the sea for a couple of minutes. And then near silence as the halls emptied out.

Exhausted she leaned her throbbing head on her hand, snatching it up at the uneven sound of Michael's stride down the hall, accompanied by the staccato tap of Marella's heels. "Michael!" she cried desperate for news by now. "How are they? Can I see them?"

"Now that I can do," he said breaking into a grin. Holding her elbow, he guided her down the hall. "Sorry about the wait. It took a little longer than expected. They'd just wheeled Hawke into surgery when I found the doctor."

"Surgery?" Cait squeaked slamming to a halt in the middle of the hall, her face blanching. "I thought he'd just got winged and needed a few stitches."

Marella looked at Michael inquiringly. He nodded in acquiescence.

"I'm afraid not," she said brown eyes sympathetic. The bullet lodged in the bone and they had to go in to take it out. It did quite a bit of damage."

"But he'll be okay?"

"Given time we think so, yes. The doctors are hopeful the nerve damage won't be too bad, and he is right-handed, so…"

"He'll be able to fly," Michael stated anticipating the next question. At least in a couple months after everything comes off and he's had some time to heal."

Feeling the relief wash through her, Caitlin relaxed. Something niggled at her mind though, something she'd forgotten. Abruptly it fell into place.

"The left hand?" she asked. "You said he was right-handed, so it wouldn't be a problem."

"Yes?" Marella asked questioningly.

"How bad's the left hand?" Caitlin demanded.

"We won't know for a while," Marella tried to explain. "Good enough he should be able to fly, why?"

"What about the cello?" Cait asked.

Realization slammed into both their eyes at once. Michael winced, thinking of Hawke's prize Stradivarius cello at home. Marella dropped her eyes first. "I don't know, Cait," she sighed.

"Damn," she muttered tears threatening again. Hawke would be devastated to lose his music. It was the one thing that brought him peace when nothing else could.

Resolve steeled in her shoulders. Throwing her head up, she stated, "You will not tell him."

"But, Cait," Michael began.

"No," Marella interrupted guessing the direction of the redheads thoughts. "You yourself have said before, one of the things Hawke has going for him is he doesn't know the odds."

Michael nodded, "but Marella how …"

She placed her hand on his arm, continuing as if he hadn't spoken. "I think Cait's right. It would be just as well if he didn't know for now. That way he'll be motivated to do the rehab the doctors give and won't have to deal with the potential loss on top of everything else."

"And how do you propose to explain it later, when the cast comes off, if it doesn't resolve itself?"

"I don't know," Marella conceded with a frown. "But at least by then, he should be on the mend and have his flying back."

"Alright," Michael conceded uneasily, Caitlin's eyes pleading with him. "I guess it'll wait. Like you said, the doctors don't know yet."

Sliding into Seb's room, Caitlin sat. The doctors had decided to keep him a couple days for observation and rest, but she knew Hawke would want a first hand report. Gradually, the younger man stirred, blue eyes blinked open.

Confusion reined for a minute as he tried to place his surroundings. At last, he turned his head in her direction. "Cait," he said sounding pleased.

"Hey," she said smiling back at him. "That was some nap."

"Yeah," he said wincing, holding a hand to the back of his head. "Next time I want the party to go with the hangover. This isn't much of a trade."

She grinned. "I'll be sure and tell Roper that."

Sobering, he looked at her. "How is he?" he asked, his voice serious. "I don't remember a lot, but what I do isn't good."

"It was touch and go for a while," she admitted. "He's in recovery now. The doctors got the bleeding stopped and barring any complications he should recover."

"Thank God," Seb swallowed, relaxing against the pillow. "It would have killed String to find him, only to lose him."

"Yeah," Caitlin agreed looking down at her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Where is Hawke?" he asked suddenly noticing the other's absence.

"I haven't been to see him yet."

"Oh," he answered. A scowl formed on his forehead as he assimilated her words. "What do you mean you haven't been to see him yet? Did he get hurt?"

"Shot," she replied succinctly. "You know him. He has a talent that way."

"He okay?"

"he got shot in the arm. They had to remove the bullet. They're patching him up now."

Satisfied, Seb relaxed. "Tell him I'm thinking 'bout him," he muttered, the words drowsy as he fought the painkillers.

"I will," she promised, placing a kiss on his cheek as she left the room.

Standing in the doorway, Caitlin watched her husband as he slept. Low slung pajama bottoms clung to a body that hadn't changed much in all their time together. The stomach was still firm, the chest well-muscled, the arms still the safest place she'd ever run to.

She gave a small smile that disappeared at the sight of the blue cast that enveloped his arm from knuckle to almost elbow. She hoped she was making the right choice on that. Keep praying, she reminded herself. It sure seemed to work with Roper. If not, she, Michael and Marella would be in for heck when he found out.

Gaze traveling upward, sapphire blue eyes met hers.

"Hey, you," she whispered walking across the room. "You been awake long?"

"Hey, yourself," he whispered back. "Not really." His voice was raspy from the anesthesia and she got him a glass of water. Shifting he took it from her, drinking greedily before handing it back.

Placing the glass on the table, Cait perched on the edge of the bed holding the fingers of his good hand in hers. The other hand feathered the fine brown strands out of his eyes. "Good to have you back."

"Good to be back," he replied with a half-grin. "How are Seb and Roper?" the tone was serious again, worried.

"Seb's okay. Said if Roper's gonna give him hangovers like this, he's going to have to throw better parties."

String gave a small laugh. "And Roper?" he asked, his dark blue eyes intent. "How's he?"

"He's in recovery. It looks like he'll be okay. It'll take awhile, but…"

Hawke nodded. Looking down he confessed, "I was scared. I thought for a while…"

"Me too," Caitlin sighed. "Me too."

They were both silent for a long moment.

"You think maybe…" he trailed off.

"What?"

"Well, I just thought for sure…and then it just turned around," he raised troubled blue eyes to hers.

"I don't know Hawke," she answered. "I just know I'm grateful. God's been to stubborn to let you die over the years, and I'm glad He evidently seems to feel that way about your son as well."

He squeezed her hand. "Me too," he whispered softly. "Me too."

Epilogue - 10 weeks later

The sun cast an orange glow over the lake as it set, the wind cool as it blew off the water. Sitting in silence, the younger man stared out at the lake, the shadows lengthening as Hawke played. Despite the growing darkness, Hawke's fingers found the notes with the familiarity of long practice. The occasional missed note still frustrated, but at least they were becoming fewer as the numbness that had plagued his arm had started to ebb. At last though, even he fell silent, his casted arm resting on his thigh.

"Are you angry at her?" Roper found himself asking, despite his promise to himself not to.

Startled, Hawke looked at him, his expression unreadable in the darkness. He didn't answer at first, and Roper had about decided he wasn't going to when the words came. "Yeah," the laugh was self-depreciating. "I guess I am. You?"

"Yeah, sometimes. I don't want to be, but…"

"But you are."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know she had her reasons Hawke, and I know she and Sam loved me, but…here we are," he gestured broadly. "The old life isn't what I thought it was, and this," he said gesturing at the cabin and the lake, "Doesn't exactly fit either."

Hawke nodded, his sigh quiet in the night air. "I know what you mean." He paused, picking his words carefully. "But given time, you might find it fits you better than you think."

"Maybe," Roper allowed, his voice quiet.

Hawke tapped the bow against his shoe thoughtfully. "You know you could stay."

"And do what?" Roper asked miserably.

"Go to work for Michael, he could use another pilot on the Airwolf project. Doc Gifford is leaving when he marries Max next month."

"I'm still not a helicopter pilot, Hawke."

"Maybe not," Hawke answered, "but you are a damned good fighter pilot and you've got the potential to be as good a chopper pilot if you work at it. The choice is yours."

Roper sighed, mulling over his words. "You think there is much chance of me making the cut?"

"If you want it, yeah. Means you'll have to work hard for it, but from what I've seen so far, I think you could do it."

"Can't get rated for a helicopter license that fast." Roper rejoined dejectedly.

"Depends how bad you want it," Hawke retorted. "You're rated on planes and instruments, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You're halfway there. Decide whether you want it or not. If you do, I'll help you."

The younger man was silent a long time. Finally he spoke, " How about you, Hawke? Do you want me to stay? I know this has got to be awkward between you and Cait."

"What's awkward between him and Cait?" a cheerful voice queried, stepping out of the darkness. Lithely Caitlin stepped down on the dock behind Hawke.

Mentally Roper groaned.

Hawke leaned his head back comfortably against the slender redhead. She gently twined her fingers with his, mindful of the cast.

"So," she said returning single-mindedly to Roper's question. What's awkward between Hawke and I?"

This time Roper groaned out loud.

Grinning, Hawke glanced up at his wife. "Roper's afraid him being here is awkward for us," he said blue eyes crinkling.

"String!" she admonished, whacking him on the shoulder. "Stop being such a tease and behave yourself!"

She stepped around Hawke, her hand on his shoulder. "It was awkward, is awkward," she admitted her tone serious. "But Hawke is your father and what happened between him and Nhi Huong was a lifetime ago. I may not like it, but I also understand it has nothing to do with me."

"And now?" he asked, searching her face.

"Now," she said weakly spreading her hands. "I'd like you to stay. It'd make Hawke happy and that'd make me happy. Besides," she said reaching her hand out to him, "you're family, and family sticks together."

"You're sure?" he asked taking her hand as he stood up.

"Positive," she guaranteed, reaching out to hug him. Setting the cello aside, Hawke came up behind her encircling his wife with one arm and his son with the other.


End file.
